Resolutions
by DeclanS
Summary: Part Twelve consists of the aftermath of the resolutions and promises made that Valentine's Day weekend in the London hotel. This latter part of the story is a brief glimpse into how Martin and Louisa have changed and evolved, now turning resolutions into evolutions. Returning Winter 2015.
1. Chapter 1

Resolutions

Chapter One

Disclaimer: "Doc Martin' is the property of Buffalo Pictures.

Martin finished writing up the last of the day's patient notes and dropped them on Pauline's desk for filing tomorrow. It had been a satisfactory day; there had been a minimum of chit chat and no one had been overly annoying. Best of all, he had finished a little early with the whole evening ahead of him, time to go home then. He placed the latest edition of the British Medical Journal inside his brief case, locked the back door of the Surgery on his way out and made his way to his Lexus. The drive home took barely five minutes. Soon he was pulling into the circular driveway where he parked directly behind the small navy blue sedan.

For a moment he surveyed his homestead, finding it most pleasing. The lawn was neatly manicured, the flowerbeds newly weeded. Evidently the gardener had made his monthly visit today. The four bedroom stone cottage took on a golden hue in the dwindling sunlight, light bounced off the bay window that framed the master bedroom. Martin emitted a contented sigh and walked round through the garden to the back door. The wild roses were in bloom; no doubt she would have picked some, sorting them artfully in a vase on their dinner table.

He entered the kitchen through the unlocked back door, two stainless steel pots boiled away on the cooker. He opened both lids, approving of the steaming broccoli and new potatoes; optimal nutritional value. In the sink three shiny mackerel fillets lay marinating in a low calorie, low sodium orange ginger sauce. He turned towards the oak table already set with silverware and china in readiness for their dinner. As he expected, wild roses were beautifully displayed to maximum advantage in a cobalt blue glass vase. A pepper mill sat on the table, missing its mate. As per his request salt shakers were banned.

He strolled into the lounge. The floor and furniture were immaculate, not a spot of dust. If anyone had told him six months ago that he would be married and would like it, he would have diagnosed them a moron. Suddenly the evening got infinitely better. He heard soft footsteps on the staircase and a joyful voice called down to him.

"Hello Martin. How was your day?" Louisa had reached the bottom stair when he caught her up in his arms and kissed her.

"Satisfactory. Better now." He smiled down at her, releasing her, albeit reluctantly, so she could enter the kitchen to turn down the steaming vegetables. He watched her walk away from him, admiring that slender, graceful figure and glistening chestnut hair. Even in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, Louisa managed to look as though wearing designer clothing.

He started to follow her into the kitchen but something alerted his attention, something was amiss in the lounge. For a moment he could not put his finger on the problem but then realized that the wallpaper had faded. Perhaps it was the setting sun, it tended to darken everything. No, now the crimson leather sofa appeared suddenly lighter. Martin rubbed his eyes; perhaps he should make an appointment to have them checked.

Louisa hummed away in the kitchen as she tossed the mackerel into the pan to sauté the fillets. She turned around to face Martin, showing him her broadest smile. Her pale skin looked opaque; maybe she was anemic again. After dinner he would suggest she make an appointment at the Wadebridge Medical Surgery for a blood test. But now it wasn't just her skin; her blue jeans and red t-shirt were drained of colour. Alarmed, he cast around the room; the roses were no longer pinkish red, they were fading as were the violet walls.

Louisa turned to him, frowning. "What's wrong, Martin? You don't look at all well. Maybe you should sit down?" She motioned to a kitchen chair.

"Umm… yes. Something's gone wrong with my vision." He grabbed for the chair but instead put his hand right through it. His head began to spin. Everything in the room was swirling. Louisa's skin was translucent now. He was frightened; maybe she should call for an ambulance. Then he heard a raucous, menacing laugh. It emanated from Louisa. She was staring at him with contempt.

"Is this fairy tale how you really thought it would be between us? All you imagined our idyllic married life to be? Well then, now you can see just what you missed. You should have run after me, Martin. You should never have let me walk away from you on our Wedding Day. Why did you let me go, Martin?"

His throat was parched; no words would emerge. Louisa was a mere outline now, evaporating along with the contents of the kitchen and the entire house.

Suddenly he awoke, shouting her name. The front and back of his pajama top were soaked with perspiration. His heart thudded. He flung back the mangled sheet and duvet, hauling himself out of bed. Down the staircase he went to the kitchen, switching lights on as he walked. He hated the darkness these days, it suffocated him. Pouring himself a glass of water, he barely needed to glance over to the clock. He could guess the time, somewhere between three and four o'clock. He glanced anyway; two fifty one. He was early tonight.

He padded into the lounge, heaved himself onto the leather sofa and switched on the telly to watch late night infomercials for useless items he would never buy. At least the vapid, breathless voices hawking their wares temporarily drowned out the voices of self-reproach in his head.

X X X X

Marin awoke abruptly at six thirty when the February sun hit the house. There was no point going back to bed now, he might as well shower, shave and dress. He would be early for Surgery again as had become his habit of late. There was precious little else to fill his time. Louisa had left Port Wenn ten weeks ago. Shortly thereafter his appetite waned and the onset of insomnia was not far behind. Then the nightmares began; it was almost always some variation of the same dream.

As he shaved he studied himself objectively in the mirror. His eyes had sunken into his head; puffy purple patches filled the spaces underneath. His cheekbones jutted out, the roundness that was formerly his jowls had disappeared; his skin was pale and creased.

"Good Heavens, man! Pull yourself together," he shouted at the mirror. If it had been one of his patients standing in front of him he would not have hesitated in his diagnosis; depression. But he reassured himself, it was a functional depression. He could just drag himself through the day but every evening and night filled him with a sinking dread and a soul sucking, endless emptiness. But this was Martin Ellingham, formerly eminent vascular surgeon and now the best bloody GP that North Cornwall had ever seen. He did not succumb to the frailties of the human mind. He was above all of that.

To be continued …


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Only to please Holly had she agreed to do it and even then with the greatest of reluctance. Holly had remained persistent right up until today, calling her after school to ensure that she wasn't bailing. But really, on Valentine's Day? Why not any other night of the month? Hadn't she been through enough lately, did she need yet another reminder of all that was lost?

Still, Holly did mean well and was genuinely worried about her; hence the badgering until Louisa agreed to go out on this one blind date. Holly had handpicked the suitor, a divorced barrister, a sensitive man and a good father, apparently. Not her own type but surely one to please the overly selective Louisa; a far better catch than that pompous, arrogant GP who had unceremoniously dumped her friend at the altar.

Tonight the upscale restaurant was full. The white linen topped tables were set discretely far apart, suitable to the privacy of the discerning clientele. The food was impeccably served and flawless in its execution. She couldn't complain yet she could barely swallow any of it down her throat. All of her would be suitor's charming efforts were in vain. Shame really, he was obviously a nice man and trying so hard to engage her in conversation, struggling to find a topic which she would respond to with more than a few sentences. In truth she was put off by his finely tailored suit, expensive leather shoes and gold cufflinks that peeked out of the ends of his starched white shirt. They reminded her of someone else.

His face recorded disappointment when the desserts were placed on the table. She barely touched her Sacher Torte, refusing the offer to taste his Mango Cheesecake. She declined politely, thinking that all of this rich food lacked nutritional value and anyway was bad for the digestion at nine o'clock at night. Or so she had once been told.

She feigned a slight headache and an early morning class to teach. He understood, offering her a ride home in his Mercedes. She once again politely declined, wanting nothing more than to be left alone, away from the tables filled with courting couples, ruby red roses and soft candlelight. In a last fleeting attempt, he gave her his business card replete with four different numbers where he could be reached day or night. He asked that when she felt up to it, maybe she would call for a second date.

As she came up from the Tube she tore his card in two and tossed it into a nearby garbage bin. Walking the final darkened block to her cramped bedsit she had started to cry, quietly, so as not to draw attention. As though it mattered, she thought bitterly, the only people she passed were young couples with eyes only for each other on this day earmarked in the calendar for lovers.

In a sudden, spontaneous gesture she pulled out her mobile and pressed Martin's number on the speed dial. They hadn't spoken in three months. Perhaps it was time. The phone rang once, twice, thrice. She abruptly hung up before it went to voicemail or worse, Martin answered. It was a bad idea anyway. What was there left to say? She must get on with her life. She deleted his number.

To be continued …


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Caroline Bosman hung up the phone and exhaled a deflated sigh. This Headmistress friend of Louisa's from London was pushy and demanding. Yet there was no denying her concern for their mutual friend. It was the third phone call from Holly in a month and this time Caroline felt she really must act.

When Holly first called two weeks ago to vent her frustrations over Louisa's undisguised lack of interest in the Valentine's Day date, Caroline had been sympathetic to Louisa's frame of mind. No wonder Louisa had turned down a second date, it was much too soon for her; evidently it was going to be a long while before Louisa resolved her feelings for Martin and moved on. Holly's thinly veiled contempt for Martin, coupled with her own unsentimental and insensitive nature, meant she failed to grasp the delicacy of the situation.

But today's phone call had been different. Today Holly had been worried about Louisa's health. She made it a point to see Louisa at least once a month, given her busy schedule and the distance between their residences, it was all she could muster.

The senior position which Holly had found for her friend at a prestigious girl's school in north London appeared to be working out well. The Head Mistress was most impressed with Louisa's teaching skills, her strong work ethic, her understanding of her pupils and her excellent administrative capabilities. It had been fortunate that this vacancy had opened up at the end of November. The woman who held it had just been diagnosed with inoperable cancer and decided to resign her post immediately. Holly's influence had secured an interview and by mid-December Louisa had been hired.

Leaving White Rose Cottage in the hands of a capable rental agent, Louisa had temporarily moved into Holly's spare bedroom before Christmas. She then set out to find something more suitable in her price range. She wanted to be on her own. Suffering through the holidays with Holly's pretentious social circle had been quite enough. Besides, in her own bedsit she could skip meals without being nagged and cry into her pillow every night without being overheard.

So when Louisa and Holly had met for lunch last Sunday, Holly had become concerned. Louisa was thinner still, the bags under her eyes heavier and a smile barely managable. Holly suggested to Caroline that she travel up to London to talk with Louisa, maybe convince her to see a doctor.

X X X X

Caroline glanced at her watch; she was due on air in fifteen minutes. She had just enough time to make a quick call to Lindsay; the task at hand was better suited to her skills.

Lindsay was Dr. Lindsay Goldman, clinical child psychologist. She had moved to Port Wenn over a year ago from London, following her divorce from a philandering husband. She divided her time between a child guidance clinic in the hospital in Truro three days a week and a private practice serving Port Wenn and neighbouring towns the other two days. She was also consulting psychologist with the North Cornwall county school board.

Shortly after arriving in Port Wenn, Lindsay had made an appointment to introduce herself to the Head Teacher at Port Wenn Primary. She had been surprised to find such a young Head; most of the others were in their forties and fifties. It hadn't taken long to realize they had much in common. Both were single, successful professional women in their mid-thirties, passionate both about their jobs and communities, and highly frustrated with the men in their lives. They soon became fast friends. Some people laughed to see the mismatched pair as they strolled together the streets of Port Wenn. Louisa was graceful, slender, and beautiful; Lindsay short, plump with tight wavy jet black curls and oversized black glasses.

Caroline dialed Lindsay's mobile.

X X X X

"Dr. Goldman speaking."

"Hi Lindsay, it's Caroline. Sorry to bother you but do you have a spare minute?"

"Yes, I'm not due in clinic for another twenty minutes. What can I do for you?"

"It's Holly again. Another phone call imploring us to do something."

"Oh dear. Surely not still harbouring anger after Louisa ditched the rich barrister?"

"No, actually something serious this time. Holly had brunch with Louisa yesterday and didn't think she looked well."

"Still not sleeping?"

"Apparently. Not eating properly either."

"Right. What would you like me to do? Call Louisa again? You know what she's like on the phone these days, always diverting the conversation away from herself."

"Holly thinks a visit is in order. This time I agree with her. Just to make sure that Louisa's okay … not too despondent. You're the best equipped. Could you manage it?"

"Yes, of course. I have a light schedule on Friday next week. I could take the train up to London that afternoon, stay with my aunt and spend Saturday with Louisa. I'd best call to make sure her schedule's open."

"I doubt that will be a problem; sounds like she's free every weekend, by her own choice."

"But Louisa's no fool. She'll spot why I'm there."

"Does it matter? Neither of us has seen her since the end of November. She's been putting us off for months."

"True. We've left it long enough. If she won't come down here, we'll have to take matters into our own hands. I'll book a train ticket today."

"Good. While I have you on the line, I've got one more idea to discuss with you. It might just give a boost to Louisa's spirits."

"I'm all ears."

To be continued …


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Martin scribbled a change in dosage in the patient notes of Mr. Godfrey. Not that the old bugger would bother to thank him for splitting the antibiotic into two smaller daily doses thus making the side effects less damaging to Mr. Godfrey's irritable gastrointestinal tract. With that the day's work was complete. Five-forty; another bleak Monday evening stretched in front of him.

He heard the front door open. Annoyed, he rose from his desk and shouted out, "Surgery closed forty minutes ago. Can't you read the sign? This had better be an emergency."

"No, it's just me, Dr. Ellingham. Sorry to bother you but I'm just back from the clinic in Truro. We had our monthly literature review today, the one where staff present reviews of recent journal articles. One of the graduate students presented on a paper regarding the latest efficacy study of Ritalin versus Concerta. I though you might like a copy given that you're treating Jeffrey Miller for ADHD. It's quite interesting."

"Dr. Goldman. Yes, thank you. I've been considering switching the Whitehead boy to Concerta as well. Your timing is good."

Lindsay knew this of course. She had been madly searching these past three days for a suitable excuse to see Martin. Feigning an illness wasn't a good idea; Martin could spot a malingerer miles away. She couldn't delay it any later; she was leaving for London in four days.

The research paper wasn't really that informative; the sample size was too small, the results inconclusive. Still, it had gotten her foot in the door. She knew that after Surgery closed for the day Martin would be quite alone. Whether he admitted it or not, he would be grateful for a bit of company, especially this week when Joan was away in Brighton visiting old friends.

As she anticipated, Martin invited her into his office. She sat in the patient's chair until he read through the paper's conclusions. After he pronounced the research methodology second rate, they discussed the implications for their shared patients until Lindsay could find an opening to discuss the real reason for her visit.

"I'm glad to catch you in. This was my only chance to give you the paper this week."

"Oh." He sounded as disinterested as he looked.

They never discussed their private lives. She must tread carefully; she eased ever so casually into the next sentence. "Yes, lots of paperwork to finish off before I leave for London on Friday, mostly insurance claims for patients. You must have a lot of those every week as well."

Martin's head lifted ever so slightly. His eyes turned upwards, scrutinizing her. London. Where Louisa was.

"Are you attending a conference?" Maybe Lindsay would have time to see her. They were friends. He wouldn't ask.

"No, just a social visit. My aunt lives there." She paused briefly then ever so nonchalantly added, "I'm spending Saturday with Louisa."

For the briefest of instants he said nothing, absorbing the implications, opened his mouth to say something, and then put his head down again to shuffle Mr. Godfrey's notes.

Even if he didn't pursue it, it was a good sign, Lindsay figured. His curiosity was sparked. Even if he told her to mind her own business and then threw her out, it was worthwhile to proceed.

"Dr. Ellingham, I was wondering whether there was any message you wanted me to take to her?"

"What do you mean?" He burst forth in an angry torrent of words. "What is there to say? Has she spoken to you about me? She hasn't been in touch since-". He stopped himself abruptly and stood up, placing his hands squarely on his desk. "I really don't think this is any business of yours. It's highly unprofessional of you to delve into my personal life. We are not friends. You have overstepped the professional courtesy I have always extended to you, Dr. Goldman."

Lindsay realized she had blundered. In a minute he would be shooing her out the door. Better to switch tactics immediately; it was no good cornering Martin. Better to appeal to his professional desire to help, particularly when it came to Louisa.

"No, quite right. Pardon me for intruding into your private affairs. I just thought … seeing as she wasn't well, you might be … a bit … concerned."

Bull's-eye. Message delivered, right on target. Martin sat down again. The colour left his face, his brow furrowed.

"What is it? What wrong with her? Does she have a good GP? I could refer her to an excellent GP in Harley Street or to a specialist. I still have a number of contacts at St. Thomas." He was genuinely alarmed now. Already he had taken out his address book and was leafing through the pages.

"No, no, Dr. Ellingham. I don't think it's anything serious. She's lost weight and isn't sleeping well. I think that maybe she's just a little bit … depressed."

Martin put down the address book. His attention was riveted.

"The last four months haven't been easy for her. What with the move to London, the new job and … everything else … Lindsay's voice trailed off, no need to state the obvious.

The scowl returned to Martin's face. She surveyed his wan and haggard appearance, at the wide space between his neck and shirt collar resultant no doubt from his recent weight loss. Take a look in the mirror some time, mate.

"I'm sure it hasn't been, um, easy for you either," she consoled, stumbling over the words. Marin had never discussed Louisa with her although he must have surmised that they remained in touch. She rose from the leather chair.

"I'd best be off. Those insurance forms won't write themselves. She smiled weakly. All Martin's concentration remained fixed upon his address book. No answer.

"Goodbye then. Enjoy the article." She picked up her briefcase and turned to leave.

"What kind of message? For Louisa, I mean?"

X X X X

To be continued ...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Lindsay turned around slowly, as if Martin Ellingham seeking her guidance was a daily event. She kept her voice and facial expressions as neutral as possible; wouldn't want to scare him off.

"Perhaps you could write a letter to Louisa," she suggested, nonplussed.

Martin was snide. "We haven't exactly been pen pals since our … Wedding Day. I'm hardly going to write her all the village gossip, am I? I'm sure lots of idiots around here already do that."

Showing great forbearance, Lindsay chose to ignore the insult. At least Louisa's friends had cared enough to write and call, supporting her through this utterly devastating period.

"How about a card then? Mrs. Tishell has a good selection in her shop. Perhaps one with enough space for a small personal note to be written inside. Something brief, just to let her know that you are still thinking about her."

Martin snapped back. "What good is that? What good is thinking about her? She made her choice. She didn't want to marry me. Didn't even come by to tell me she was leaving Port Wenn.!"

Martin could be so childish and nasty at times, particularly when he felt attacked. Lindsay's patience was wearing thin. Maybe, Martin, you should have gone to see Louisa, tried to talk her out of leaving, on one of the many late nights when Louisa sat alone in her cottage sobbing. This won't do, Lindsay chastised herself. Vocalizing your anger now will only further raise Martin's ire.

She was one of the few allies he had left in the village, apart from Roger Fenn and Joan. Everyone else was still furious with him for driving Louisa out of town. His patients found him more rude and unsympathetic than ever. The students, teachers and parents of Port Wenn Primary were utterly dissatisfied with the replacement Head Teacher. Louisa's friends thought Martin an unfeeling pig who had ruined her life. Even the local fishermen hated him. Since discovering last year that her father had pilfered a sizable amount of Lifeboat Fund donations, Louisa had not only repaid most of the money herself but had become Vice-Chairperson of the Fundraising Committee.

Louisa Glasson had been tightly interwoven into the fabric of village life for more than thirty-five years. Neither her parents' divorce nor her father's gambling and thieving proclivities had severed the ties with her home. It had taken Martin Ellingham, an outsider, to rip her from that life.

Still, Lindsay considered, she owed it to Louisa to try once more. With great effort she said, "It's up to you, Doctor. I'm sure Louisa would appreciate hearing from you. It's your choice. Anyway, I'm leaving on Friday morning so if you decide to write something make certain it's in my mailbox by Thursday evening."

With that she shut the door, wondering whether Martin would summon the courage to lift himself from this morose inertia and take the first step towards winning Louisa back.

X X X X

There were too many choices, rows and rows of them, mostly filled with useless platitudes or overly sentimental bad poetry. Martin rarely bought cards. He had no one to give them to, except for Joan and given the Ellingham tendency to avoid all overt displays of emotion, he only did so on milestone birthdays. The one card he had purchased in the past year had been for Louisa's birthday. Her apparent appreciation had been quickly overshadowed by the unexpected appearance of her troublesome father.

Choosing this card was proving more difficult than the last time given he did not know what he wanted to say or how to express it. If it was true that Louisa was unwell then perhaps a Get Well card would be most appropriate. But would that be unprofessional coming from her doctor? Actually, he wasn't at all certain whether he was still her doctor. He hadn't attended her in four months and prior to their non-wedding she had intended to transfer over to the Wadebridge Family Medical Centre.

If it was merely emotional strain causing her symptoms then might it not be better to send something that would cheer her up? Perhaps he should buy a tasteful art card with no text on the inside? Then he could write a small note instead, something consoling. This option filled him with the most trepidation.

He wasn't very good at that sort of thing. He wanted to create a positive impression: to let her know that he still thought of her every day, missed catching a glimpse of her on the streets of Port Wenn, still cared about her, knew he had made a mistake in letting her go. But what if she wasn't interested anymore in knowing that? What if she had moved on with her new job, new home, new friends, and new life without him?

Martin groaned. He had been standing in the card section of the stationary store in Wadebridge for over twenty minutes. He would rather have gone to Mrs. Tishell's; the card selection was so much smaller there. But he couldn't risk being seem; it would have aroused too much interest and gossip from the other shoppers. Bad as they might have been, Mrs. Tishell would have been worse. These days she fawned and fussed over him more than usual. Since the non-wedding she had redoubled her invitations to tea and dinner.

Time to push on then; to make a decision. He chose a photograph of a sunset over the sea with an inscription inside:

"THINKING OF YOU AND WISHING YOU WELL"

That seemed sufficiently ambiguous.

X X X X

To be continued …


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

After reading the same paragraph for the third time and not absorbing a fraction of it, Lindsay put the magazine down onto her lap. Sitting on this jostling train to London she wondered whether she was making an error in judgment. Was it really her place to interfere in the lives of these two adults? Neither had really asked for it. Was she no better than the gossiping busybodies in Port Wenn who thought they knew best how everyone should conduct their lives?

The problem was that Louisa and Martin were utterly miserable without each other but both too stubborn, too proud, to admit it or to do anything about it. Without some outside prodding neither was likely to show up on the other's doorstep of their own volition. But, thought the psychologist in her, if you're thinking love conquers all, it doesn't. Two people can be deeply in love with each other but not have a successful relationship, married or otherwise. Martin and Louisa had both sensed this on their wedding day and although intensely painful, had likely made the right decision by not rushing into marriage.

That they loved each other was not in doubt. Lindsay, like everyone else in the village, apart from Joan, had not been convinced that Martin had the capacity to love, so emotionally damaged and anti-social was he. However her skepticism had dissolved after an incident one evening two weeks into the engagement.

Lindsay had wanted to drop off a monograph Martin had leant her on clinical trials for a new pediatric anti-depressant. The Surgery was already closed for the day but the door remained as yet unlocked. She had planned to just pop it onto Pauline's desk with a thank you note and exit. No need to incur the wrath of the good doctor. That's when she realized she was not alone. Louisa was in the kitchen preparing dinner with Martin.

"So you won't tell me where we're honeymooning. Somewhere hot, posh and secluded isn't much of a clue, "Louisa teased.

"No, I already told you, it's a surprise. My gift to you, the first of many I plan to shower you with. It's time to start making up for my appalling efforts to court you." He spoke so tenderly that Lindsay wasn't at all certain that it was truly Martin Ellingham.

"Martin, you are already paying for more than half of everything else related to this wedding. At least let me chip in for the airfare?"

"Shush. Absolutely not. It's a small price to pay to have you all to myself, alone, for seven glorious days and nights."

Lindsay was mesmerized. Who was this gentle, adoring soul? Riveted, she made no effort to leave.

"Well then, I'll have to buy something extra enticing to wear for those seven nights."

"I look forward to it. But you know I like you best when you wear nothing at all."

"I'm beginning to realize that. Perhaps we should start practicing for those long, hot nights together?'

"What did you have in mind? I am all yours, Louisa, body and soul."

"Have you completed that research on the Internet that you were so concerned about? Something about maximizing pleasure, if I remember correctly."

"Yes. Would you like to see the diagrams I printed off?"

Louisa laughed loudly. "No Martin, why don't you show me instead? That would be much more instructive, not to say fun. How about after dinner?"

Lindsay blushed. She felt embarrassed for eavesdropping. She thought she had better leave quickly before Martin got an early start on that tutorial.

A jerk of the train as it entered into the station brought Lindsay back to the present. Only now, with this protracted separation, were Martin and Louisa realizing how much they meant to one another and wanted to be together. Lindsay fervently hoped this would be the motivating factor to initiate change. But already much time had passed without either having made a move; was it too late for a reconciliation? What a shame that would be.

X X X X

Louisa put down her fork; her Eggs Benedict mostly finished. It was time to get down to business.

"So if you only arrived in London last night and we're spending all day together today and you're going back to Port Wenn tomorrow, when exactly are you planning on going to the university library to do your research?"

"Oh, right. Well … perhaps I'll just give it a pass this trip. It's not exactly urgent." Lindsay averted her eyes away from Louisa's stern gaze. She ploughed a piece of pancake into the maple syrup as a diversion.

"Or maybe non-existent. Perhaps your ulterior motive was to check up on me?"

"Okay, you win. I never could lie to a teacher." She laughed, hoping Louisa would appreciate the joke. "Don't be annoyed. Look, we're all worried about you. You're as thin as a rake and …"

"I've almost cleaned my plate." Louisa was defiant. She had been so looking forward to Lindsay's visit all week. She wasn't about to let it turn into an interrogation of her welfare.

"Yes, but I bet it's the first time in weeks."

"Lindsay, did you come all this way just to lecture me? You're not my mother, not that she'd be much good at it, if she gave a toss."

Louisa appeared on the verge of tears. Lindsay motioned the waiter for the bill. "I'm sorry. Honestly it wasn't my intention to distress you. It's just that Holly thought you might enjoy seeing an old friend. Maybe have some fun. Tell you what, why don't we go to the Tate this afternoon or shoe shopping?"

Ignoring this suggestion, Louisa wanted to clear the air. "Holly should mind her own business. I'm sure you've heard about the date she sent me on for Valentine's Day?"

"Yes … she meant well though, looking out for your best interests. She thought that maybe it was time for you to move on … perhaps meet someone new…"

Louisa burst out, "I don't want someone … new … oh …" her voice trailed off. She hadn't intended for that most closely harboured of secrets, that very candid admission, to have slipped out so readily.

"So you do want someone. Just not someone new?"

To be continued ….


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Tears were forming in Louisa's eyes. Before she could speak the waiter thrust the check onto the table, scurrying away before Lindsay could hand him her credit card. Wanting to get Louisa out of the restaurant before she burst into tears, Lindsay plunked down a sheaf of pound notes on top of the check, anchored them with the pepper mill and shepherded Louisa out onto the street. With their arms linked together, they walked a block in silence, Louisa fighting to hold back her misery.

Lindsay silently cursed Martin. You'd better have written something nice in that card, you tosser. Seeing Louisa so wretched was more than she could bear. Suddenly she spotted a small park up ahead. Aside from a very bored looking father pushing a belligerent child on the swing set, it was empty. She steered Louisa towards a shaded wooden bench in an isolated corner.

By the time they were settled. Louisa had composed herself. "Sorry, Lindsay. I don't know what came over me. It's been rather lonely in London without my mates. I guess I just needed to tell that to somebody. It's been swirling around in my head for weeks. But I can't go back and I don't know how to go forward."

Lindsay put her hand on Louisa's arm. "Don't apologize. It's good to talk face to face. Over the telephone you sounded so distant and unhappy but you always avoided talking about what was really on your mind."

"I know but talking about it over the phone would have only made me feel worse. I would have hung up and been all alone again, pacing in my tiny bedsit. In Port Wenn when I had a problem, I could share it over a bottle of wine with you, Caroline or another good friend. Or maybe just go for a long walk along the cliffs, watch the sea and breathe in the fresh air. Here it's just noisy, congested streets and stinking pollution. People and cars everywhere. No privacy but yet everyone's a stranger, everything's anonymous."

"If you're so unhappy why not come home?"

"To what? My house is rented to the new Head. I resigned my job. If there are any vacancies in the North Cornwall area for the Fall Term, they haven't been posted yet; I've checked. This new life isn't exactly what I had envisioned for myself this Spring."

"What did you envision?"

Louisa looked off into the distance. She clutched the tissue in her hand in preparation for another flood of tears. Her voice choked. "I had thought … I had hoped … that Martin and I would finally be married, that we would be searching for larger accommodations, a home on the outskirts of the village, one with a good sized kitchen, a large garden looking out to the sea. Maybe I would be pregnant already, working hard to prepare everything at the school so that I could enjoy a lengthy maternity leave in the Autumn."

"Sounds like you had it all planned out."

"Yes." Louisa laughed bitterly. "And Martin and I lived happily ever after. Just like in a fairy tale."

"But you and Martin were never that … I mean characters in a fairy story. It was never smooth sailing between the two of you, was it?"

Louisa frowned. Her green eyes flashed. "If you mean that he was never Prince Charming then yes, but I was never looking for someone to save me. I don't need saving. I can take care of myself just fine."

Lindsay put her hand on her friend's slender back. "Don't be insulted, Louisa. That's not what I meant. Of course you can take care of yourself. You've pretty much been doing it since your Mum left, haven't you? What I meant was that no relationship is ever the ideal found in romance novels. It's never without its rocky patches."

"Look at my own marriage; not exactly wedded bliss. Two psychologists trained in human relationships, you'd think we could have gotten it right." She smiled ruefully. "And … well ... Martin is a difficult person at the best of times."

"Lindsay, no one knows that better than me. But I've also seen the 'real' Martin. He's worth getting to know, worth loving."

"That's not quite what you said on your Wedding Day. You said he wouldn't make you happy, what's changed?"

Louisa looked down sadly at the naked third finger of her left hand. "I remember and I'm still not convinced that we would make each other happy. When I pictured our home – it was disorganized but joyous. Filled with toys belonging to our children and their visiting friends; candlelit dinners and laughter around a kitchen table filled with good friends; floors messy with muddy paw prints belonging to our big, scraggly mutt; a spacious master bedroom overlooking the sea where Martin and I could happily sleep." Another tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away, slightly smearing her makeup.

"That's a lovely picture. All that a happy marriage should be. Why wouldn't that make you happy?"

"Because I don't think that's what Martin wanted."

"What do you think he wanted?"

"Just me, alone. No kids, no dogs, no friends. A solitary life, away from the village. Regular visits from Joan, sporadic ones from Roger Fenn and Chris Parsons. Don't worry; I think he would have tolerated your company occasionally."

Lindsay clasped her hands together in mock horror. "Did you ever ask him what he wanted? Or did you just assume? If you are right and this is what a blissful married life would have meant for him, couldn't the two of you have worked out a compromise that would have included some of what you both wanted?"

"No, as you know, we never talked much about what we wanted."

"Perhaps that was part of your problem."

Louisa's eyes widened in surprise. She looked quizzically at Lindsay. "What?"

"You and Martin had a sum total of three dates, all of which ended badly. Then suddenly you were engaged then set to be married less than a month later. During that month you were so busy organizing a wedding ceremony and reception, I'll bet you never sat down to talk with Martin about the marriage or your future together, did you?"

Louisa shook her head.

Lindsay continued, "Just maybe the two of you rushed into things too quickly. Maybe your Wedding Day jitters arose from doubts that surfaced late but were never aired. It seems from all you said and did then and now, that both of you assume too much, and wrongly; communicate poorly and infrequently; rarely try to compromise or conciliate."

"I think I'm very good with people." Louisa huffed. "I was a Head Teacher. I deal with parents, pupils and staff every day. The Headmistress at my new school is very pleased with my work. And I've never been short of friends," she said crossly.

"Of course you are! And I count myself very lucky to be one of those friends."

Louisa gripped Lindsay's hand in apology.

"I'm not criticizing, Louisa. But you mentioned earlier that you didn't know how to move forward. Do you mind me giving you some advice?"

"You're the professional."

Lindsay ignored the sarcasm. "Come back. Come back to Port Wenn. Reach out to Martin. Try to see things more from his perspective, what's he's feeling and thinking, not just what you assume he is. Talk with him, spend time with him. Become friends." Louisa raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You always told me that you two didn't really know each other."

"Come back? I have a full time, very demanding job here in London. I doubt the Headmistress would be very happy about a sudden sabbatical. I can't imagine Martin would be thrilled either to see me turn up on his doorstep one day, unemployed, homeless and begging to be part of his life again."

"For starters, don't beg. I can't imagine that you have ever begged for anything in your life." Louisa shook her head in agreement.

"You could come down after end of term for the summer holidays. And you wouldn't be homeless. Caroline and Tom are going to California in July for a month with a few extra days tacked on at either end staying with family in London. Caroline needs someone to housesit, meaning looking after the plants and the cat and to make the house looked lived in. She said you would have the house and her car all to yourself."

"I don't like cats," Louisa protested. She couldn't think of another valid excuse.

"Apparently this one is quite independent. Looks after itself, very resourceful and easy to get along with. Kind of like you."

"I'll definitely think about it."

"Do more than that. Louisa, if you want to spend your life wondering What If, then do nothing. If you would prefer to forget Martin, then do so. But if you believe there is even the possibility of a second chance, then resolve to put in the effort. Besides, from the look of you, six weeks amongst your friends eating good food and breathing fresh air, wouldn't do you any harm either."

Louisa traced her finger on the wooden bench. She answered hesitantly, "I dunno. … I have to admit that I wasn't looking forward to spending a stuffy summer alone in London."

"Good, and if you need further incentive, here it is." Lindsay took Martin's card out of her purse.

X X X X

To be continued …


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It was past ten o'clock when she unlocked the door of her bedsit. After they had left the park, Lindsay had insisted on combing the shoe shops, claiming that the footwear stores of Cornwall contained nothing sufficiently fashionable to help her attract a certain neurologist she had met in Truro. She had managed to convince Louisa to buy a pair too, teasing that she was envious of Louisa's slender, long foot compared with her own stubby, wide one.

Louisa enjoyed herself wholeheartedly. Partly due to Lindsay's company and partly because the tension between them had abated but mostly because she realized just how much she wanted to return to Port Wenn, even if just for a visit. She had purposely left the village prior to Christmas because she could not bear the thought of looking across the water at Martin's home, wondering what he was doing without her, how he was celebrating the holiday or not, as was more likely to be the case. She had not been home since and didn't intend to go now until July.

While she would not admit it, even to Lindsay, she still felt humiliated at being left at the altar or as near to it as she had come. With the exception of Roger and Joan, the villagers had been smug when vindicated; they had always thought that Martin would squirm out of his wedding vows and let her down. She had later heard that Bert Large had been taking bets on whether Martin would actually turn up at the church.

Putting down her purse, Louisa opened it to take out the card. Martin's card. At last she had heard from him. What would he say? Would he plead with her to try again? Claim it had all been a misunderstanding, a case of nerves brought on by the nightmarish disasters and skeptical villagers of their Wedding Day? Would he ask her to forgive his last minute jitters, to remember the exultant days and passionate nights of their engagement?

All afternoon long Louisa had speculated about the contents of this envelope. Lindsay had suggested she read it whilst alone, hoping it would provide her with further encouragement and hope. Louisa agreed to do so, knowing that she would be lonely again after her friend's departure.

The afternoon had stretched into the evening after Lindsay's aunt had invited Louisa to join them for dinner at her flat. Having promised Lindsay that she would look out for Louisa, the two had gone to dinner several times in the past few months and it was she who had confirmed Holly's concerns that Louisa was listless, despondent and ill looking. Lindsay had been pleased and encouraged tonight to see her friend eat dinner and drink the wine with gusto reminiscent of the old Louisa.

But now Louisa was quite alone again. She held the mauve envelope in her fingertips. A circular stain formed on the left and right sides of the envelope. She realized that her hands were perspiring onto the paper. Could she really be that nervous about a silly card? But what if it said that he didn't miss her, want her back or love her any more? What if he, like her, still believed that their headlong rush into marriage had been foolhardy? What if he, unlike her, did not want to try again? Perhaps he had found someone else? No, that was the least likely of all her imagined scenarios.

She would never know if she didn't screw up the courage to finally open the bloody envelope. Not bothering with the letter opener, she tore at the top with clumsy, shaking fingers. How different from the way she had confidently opened the birthday card Martin had given her last year. Then she had been certain of his love for her, in spite of his protestations to the contrary.

She smiled at the beautiful sunset over the sea. Martin always had good taste. Was she meant to be reminded of the evenings when they had stood in the back of her cottage watching the sunset together, his arms about her waist, holding her tight? She held her breath as she opened the card. She was confused, then disappointed, then angry.

Louisa,

THINKING OF YOU AND WISHING YOU WELL.

Martin

What the hell did that mean? She had always taught her students to parse out difficult words or phrases they were having trouble interpreting. She now thought she should apply that lesson to herself.

"Louisa" and "Martin" were the only words written in his own handwriting. No "My Dear Louisa" or "Dearest Louisa". No "all my love" or "missing you with all my heart" THINKING OF YOU at least meant he hadn't forgotten her completely. Did he lie awake at night, as she did, imagining what she was doing? Were his dreams full of what might have been? Was he as unbelievably sad as she was?

WISHING YOU WELL. Did that mean he was only concerned about her health? Perhaps he thought they had reverted back to the safety of their doctor-patient relationship. Or was he saying goodbye and wishing her all the best in her new life in London?

No heartfelt declarations of love, loss or longing. No pleas to return home, reconcile, reunite. Really the sentiment was so bloody impersonal it could have been sent to anyone. In frustration she threw the card across the room. What did he want from her? What did he expect from her? Hadn't those two questions been at the crux of their problems? She had craved more than he was prepared to give. He had been too insecure to give what she wanted.

She sat down heavily at the kitchen counter that doubled as her dining table. Placing her head in her hands, she struggled to hold back the tears. No more crying over Martin Ellingham. Lindsay was right. The only way forward was to go back, back home this summer. She resolved to do so, whatever the outcome. With a sigh, she rose and walked over to the bent card. Tenderly smoothing it out, she took it to her bedroom and placed it carefully on her nightstand.

X X X X

To be continued …


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Wednesday morning and he still hadn't heard from her. Surely she would think to call him to report on the state of Louisa's health? Frustrated, at three-thirty he instructed Pauline to place a telephone call to Dr. Goldman's office requesting an update on the Perkins patient. The school had recently brought him in to examine the girl on allegations of abuse. His examination had proven inconclusive therefore he had referred her on to Dr. Goldman for further investigation. At the end of the day Pauline brought him in a message from Lindsay to say that she would stop by on her way home tomorrow at five o'clock.

X X X X

He found it difficult to concentrate all day. The patients' complaints seemed particularly moronic and insignificant. He checked his wristwatch frequently. When five o'clock finally arrived, Dr. Goldman found Martin busy at work finishing an insurance report to send off in the morning. His demeanor gave all the indications of an inundated physician just barely able to squeeze her into his jam-packed schedule. Lindsay knew better. His hands could barely stop fidgeting during the ten minutes it took to discuss Susan Perkins.

"So I'll update you again once I've interviewed the parents. I doubt it will necessitate me having to consult with you in person. I'll just send you and the Headmaster a copy of my findings. Not that he will do much; bit of an odd duck that one. Anyway, I've got plans for dinner so must dash." She put the Perkins' file back into her briefcase.

"Ah, before you go. Dr. Goldman. I was … um … wondering whether your trip to London was … um … satisfactory?"

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Ellingham. I bought three pairs of shoes," Lindsay answered brightly, seemingly preoccupied with rearranging her briefcase.

"Oh … well …good. I trust the footwear is suitably orthopedic so as not to aggravate your plantar fasciitis? Oxfords hopefully?"

"No, not even close."

"Ah."

Lindsay approached the door. She wasn't going to make this easy for him.

"Dr. Goldman?"

"Uh huh?"

"Did you spend time with … er… Miss Glasson?"

"I did. Most of Saturday."

"Might I inquire as to her health?"

"Too thin, too tired, too sad."

He glared at her. "Is that your clinical diagnosis?"

"She's my friend, not my patient," Lindsay snapped back. She would not be bullied.

"Right." He backed down. Provoking her was not going to elicit the information he desperately wanted. "Do you think she is physically ill or just depressed?"

"Depression manifests itself in physical symptoms too. To answer your question, no, I don't think Louisa is either. She's despondent and quite lonely, having been through a number of significant and traumatic transitions in the past four months. Substantial parts of her identity have been uprooted. She needs time to adjust."

"Adjust to what?"

Use some insight, Martin! You can't be that dense. "To grieve, to losing the life she had planned for and expected to happen."

Martin's face was inscrutable. Lindsay grew impatient. Could he not understand what she was driving at?

"To not being married to you. To moving far away from her home, her job and friends."

"But that was her choice. No one made her do it!" he said defensively.

"Maybe it wasn't the correct decision."

"For whom?"

"For her. Maybe you. Forgive me for treading on your personal life but you don't look so awfully well these days either and you don't seem … exactly … happy."

That was a bit of an understatement, thought Lindsay. He wears his misery like an ill fitting glove; constricted, strangulating the bloodflow. He holds it up for all to see then slaps it in the face of anyone daring to inquire about his pain. Roger Fenn had mentioned that his several attempts to talk with Martin had been rebuffed. Joan, if she had been able to get through to Martin, certainly wasn't broadcasting the news throughout the village.

"What! I am fine! There is no need to psychoanalyze me." However furious he looked, she had captivated his attention.

"Judging from your behaviour, I'd say both you and Louisa are suffering from the same symptoms, the same root cause. Maybe you two should talk to each other sometime. Be each other's support system."

He scoffed at her psychobabble. "Did she like my card?"

"I don't know. She was planning to open it after I left. Why don't you call her and ask? She still has the same mobile number and I will email you her new address."

Martin ignored her. He traced the edge of Susan Perkins' patient notes with his index finger.

"Look, Dr. Ellingham, in my opinion Louisa left town because she was deeply worried about what she was doing with her life. She thought she needed new horizons. But she appears to be stuck in some kind of emotional limbo, not knowing how to move forward. I think she wants to see you. Possibly that's the way you feel too?"

Martin raised an eyebrow but he didn't dismiss the suggestion. Okay, thought Lindsay, in for a penny in for a pound. I might as well get it all off my chest before he throws me out of here.

"Only nothing's going to change if you don't … "

"Don't what?"

"Change. Bend a little to help the situation. Initiate contact. Clearly whatever you have been doing these past four months isn't working for you. Maybe it's time for something new?"

"That's a preposterous suggestion! There's nothing about me that needs changing. If Louisa didn't want to marry me as I am then clearly she made the right decision."

"No one's ever too old to change, Doctor. You lecture and berate your patients all the time to modify their behaviour; eat less, exercise more. It seems to me that if you do want to heal the wound, you'll have to apply the proper treatment. And that comes down to motivation. Exactly how motivated are you, Doctor, to win Louisa back?"

X X X X

To be continued …


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

So began a journey of self-discovery and introspection for both Martin and Louisa. Each trying to assess what they could offer the other without forfeiting too much of themselves. Both being cautious and practical regarding what the future might portend however, they first sought to protect themselves from the inevitable hurt that rejection would inflict. In that regard each sought to buttress their career trajectories in preparation for a desolate future which might be spent apart. At least solace and refuge could be found there.

Louisa was uncertain whether she would be happy living and teaching in a Port Wenn where she had to interact personally and professionally with a Martin with whom she was no longer emotionally involved. Therefore she resolved to secure her future in London at Tarlington Hall School where she currently taught. She volunteered to take on more administrative duties and to teach an extra class weekly. This entailed more preparation time in the evenings and weekends, giving her a justifiable excuse to turn down the list of men with whom Holly wanted to match her. Holly finally gave up, respecting Louisa's ambition if not her lack of desire to marry a well heeled professional man.

Now that she had resolved to return home this summer to face Martin, Louisa found herself at a loss concerning how to prepare. She had recognized early on in their relationship that Martin was the love of her life. Never having been short of admirers, she had sufficient relationship experience to know this with unwavering certainty. These days she wrestled constantly with the paradox that you could love someone so utterly and deeply yet believe that he would not make you happy.

If she was to sort out these doubts, she would require help. Lindsay recommended that Louisa read several books on couple's therapy that had helped her greatly during the latter years of her own marriage. Most of the relationship self-help books on the shelves these days Lindsay dismissed as rubbish but not the ones she selected for Louisa.

In particular Lindsay recommended Louisa work on her active listening and interviewing skills, on her ability to judge and criticize less, to gain more empathy and to see things more from the perspective of another. Louisa was somewhat miffed being told that she could improve in these areas. Lindsay was quick to reassure her friend that every person could use improvement in these fundamental interpersonal skills. She mollified Louisa by suggesting that honing these skills would make her an even better teacher, which turned out to be true.

The added workload at school coupled with improving her communication and interpersonal skills, filled most of Louisa's spare time. The rest she filled with long springtime walks through the city and swimming in the Tarlington Hall pool. For the first time in over four months she had a new purpose, tangible goals and a reason to look after herself. Consequently she slept and ate well. When Lindsay's aunt had lunch with Louisa in late April she was pleased to report to her niece that Louisa looked and sounded much better.

X X X X

For Martin things were not so clear. He remained unconvinced, despite the prodding from Lindsay and Joan, that there was any aspect of his personality that could be improved upon after forty-six years. He remained entrenched in this presumption.

Life in Port Wenn had become untenable for him without Louisa. Every street, every village activity, even every medical visit to the school, reminded him of his loss. It dawned on him that whatever meager social life he had experienced in the village, she had been apart of, particularly during the course of their engagement.

His professional life was another matter; on contemplation he pronounced it lacking. Should matters not resolve well with Louisa then perhaps it would be time to leave Cornwall and return to greener pastures as a surgeon in one of the larger teaching hospitals in the country. To do this meant first conquering his haemophobia.

Sensing that his anxiety disorder was so firmly entrenched that his own effort to curtail it would prove futile, he realized there was little alternative but to seek professional help. So with the greatest of reluctance he asked Chris Parsons for a referral to a psychologist or psychiatrist specializing in this field.

Having watched his friend struggle these past few years with the anxiety and attendant humiliation, Chris was relieved and pleased to assist. Finally Martin was acknowledging the severity of his problem and willing to accept treatment. Dr. Travers was one of the most highly respected psychologists in southwestern England and an expert in his field, however Chris did not envy him the effort and forbearance required to plumb and excavate the depths of the Ellingham soul.

Perhaps more would be uncovered than the root cause of the haemophobia. Martin had become increasingly moody since Louisa's departure. But therapy was often painful and protracted; would Martin commit himself wholeheartedly to the process, particularly with so much at stake?

X X X X

To be continued …


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

April is the cruelest month; so proclaimed T.S. Eliot and Dr. Martin Ellingham. Chris Parsons had been able to persuade Dr. Travers to see Martin as soon as possible despite a lengthy waiting list. Martin's first appointment was April 1st. Martin thought it went abysmally, Dr. Travers thought it had gone very well indeed.

After Martin explained the nature, duration and severity of his phobia, Dr. Travers asked him to elaborate on the meager patient history which Martin had purposely filled out with only the sparsest of details. Noting the slight bagginess of Martin's suit, space between his neck and shirt collar, and puffy eyes, Dr. Travers asked, "Sleeping well?"

"No."

"Is that unusual?"

"Yes."

"A recent change in your normal pattern? Accompanied by nightmares?"

"Yes. Yes, I wake in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep."

"Since when?

"End of November."

"Appetite normal?

"Less than usual."

"Starting about the same time as the insomnia?"

"Yes but I generally keep to a strict diet regimen anyway. Low cholesterol, no refined sugars, reduced carbohydrates."

"But you've lost weight recently?"

"A small amount, yes."

"I see from your patient notes that you have been to your GP recently. All the tests indicate that otherwise your health is excellent. So the problem likely is not attributed to a physical cause."

"Possibly. Look, what does this have to do with my phobia?" Martin gritted his teeth. These trumped up mental health professionals thought they knew everything.

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."

Martin let out an exaggerated groan. He knew this appointment was a mistake.

"Dr. Ellingham, you indicated earlier that your phobia has gotten neither better nor worse during the past six months. But judging from what you just told me, you are manifesting symptoms of some other sort of emotional disturbance as well. Any traumas occur recently in your life?"

"No."

"Nothing at all? No recent life changes? A death in the family, financial difficulties, for example?"

"Nothing. I … ah… was engaged recently. We called it off in November. But both my fiancée and I are fine with that decision. I really don't think that is relevant to this issue." Martin's patience was exhausted. He squirmed in his chair.

Dr. Travers put down his pen. Denial wasn't at all unusual in these cases but at last they had made a modicum of progress. For the next fifteen minutes he painstakingly extracted from his uncooperative patient details regarding the engagement and breakup. Martin was furious. He wanted to bolt, to rush out and never return but a small voice inside of him counseled him to stay the course. Neither the blood phobia nor the depression was abating of their own accord.

As the fifty minute therapeutic hour reached its forty minute mark, Dr. Travers was ready to impart his diagnosis and suggestions for treatment. "If I were a medical doctor … ", at this point Martin snorted, "and you came to me complaining of a chronic problem that was uncomfortable but manageable but I also noticed that you had a painful limp which turned out to be a broken leg, then I would first be obliged to treat the acute problem and then the secondary ailment."

"What! Whatever are you talking about?" More twaddle. Martin was petulant. Parsons had sent him to a lunatic who fancied himself a physician.

"Dr. Ellingham, from everything you have told me and from what I am able to discern today, you appear to be suffering from a mild to somewhat moderate functional depression which appears to stem from your recent loss. The course of treatment I recommend is this: we begin by spending some time talking about this trauma first. As we begin to make progress in that regard, we can structure some sessions to incorporate treatment for your haemophobia."

"Bollocks! Parsons said you specialized in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. Can't you just do that? Help rewire my thinking?"

"CBT is more than that. It's how you think and act to overcome emotional and behavioural problems. The meaning you attach to the activating event or trigger influences the emotional responses with which you respond. Yes, I can make you a series of CDs with breathing and relaxation exercises plus desensitization and exposure techniques, if you want to be your own therapist that is."

"But? And I am certain there is a 'but' coming."

"You indicated that you hoped to conquer your phobia within the next few months. Working on your own is encouraged, indeed necessitated. However there is a strong possibility of a relapse if that's all you do. Working with a trained therapist in structured therapy sessions, in tandem with the CDs, offers the strongest probability of a complete recovery. And there's more … "

"Oh, God. Of course there is." Contempt registered on Martin's face.

"CBT does not delve into the past to the depth that one does in psychotherapy. However it considers the past important to understanding one's current behaviour. Past experiences and the root cause must be investigated in order to examine how they have affected your current view of the world, your core values and beliefs."

"I'm bloody well not talking about my parents or my childhood! Make me the sodding CDs and I'll fix myself!"

"Of course. If that's what you wish. I'm happy to try to help you too, if you are so motivated and willing to work hard. It's really up to you."

"So I am free to leave now? You can mail me the CDs." Martin rose from his chair.

"You are always free to leave our sessions, Dr. Ellingham. This is not a prison. The door is at all times, metaphorically speaking, open. You only stay because you choose to. But as you paid me for my assessment, at least allow me to conclude before you go?"

"Might as well get some value for my money," Martin grumbled and sat down again.

"Thank you for that courtesy. It's likely that the depression you are currently experiencing stems from the unresolved feelings resultant from your broken engagement. Given that circumstance, anyone would feel a decrease in self-esteem and an increase in feelings of hopelessness, insecurity and despair. If you wish to come to my office once a week to unburden yourself to a neutral observer, it might ease and alleviate your distress."

Martin rolled his eyes.

"However, if you want only to work on conquering your blood phobia, we can do that as well. As the precipitating event seems to stem from an emotional response to a patient, specifically realizing the heavy responsibility you as a surgeon were entrusted with when caring for someone's life, a simple 'rewiring' as you called it, won't suffice."

"You don't avoid your phobia. You cope with it using a set of unsatisfactory anxiety responses: vomiting, profuse sweating, heart palpitations and so on. Either condition, either treatment involves examining your emotions, some painful self-reflection and lots of effort on your part. In my practice over the years I have treated many, many people like you, Dr. Ellingham. You cannot outrun your fears nor avoid your emotions forever.

Should you wish to commence treatment, be here in my office at the same hour next week. Otherwise my receptionist will be happy to fill your spot with someone from the waiting list. Your hour is now up."

X X X X

The dented soda can left the tip of his black leather shoe and rolled down the hill at a brisk rate. Some tourist must have left the can in front of his cottage, too lazy to find a garbage bin. For a moment Martin sympathized with the can. Poor crushed bugger. Getting kicked around helplessly by everyone in sight. It wasn't enough that every moronic villager and patient relieved their urge to tell him what a rude, insensitive codger he was. Now this sodding psychologist had the nerve to suggest there was something else wrong with him besides his horrid phobia.

Martin was boiling. All the way home on the drive from Truro he had fumed over the insolence of that man. If this so called 'mental health professional' wouldn't help him with his phobia then he would buy some self-help tapes and do it himself. No one was ever going to unscrew his head to take a look inside. No one ever had and no one bloody ever would.

X X X X

Three-forty-seven in the morning. Drenched in his own sweat, heart thudding wildly, same dream as practically every other night, Louisa chastising him for abandoning her, their ideal home evaporating into thin air. Was this misery never going to end? Dr. Travers had recommended a low dose sleeping medication to quell the anxiety dreams. But he had also pointed out, as if Martin did not already know, that treating the symptoms would not solve the illness.

God, he could not fathom just sitting and talking to anyone about himself for a full hour every bloody week. He had never done that before, not even with Louisa. To do so would mean trusting someone not to judge, criticize or mock him. Maybe mistrust was part of his problem with her. Lindsay had said she thought Louisa wanted to see him. Maybe there was faint hope for reconciliation, rapprochement or even a mere truce. Something must be done to subdue his torment. He couldn't continue like this for much longer.

X X X X

To be continued …


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Her thirty-eighth birthday; for the first time in her life she was spending a birthday alone. Even her tenth birthday, which had been celebrated eating a packet of crisps while watching her father gamble away his earnings, had been more enjoyable than this. If she had still been Head Teacher at Port Wenn Primary, the staff would have greeted her at lunchtime with a cake and a card. It had been her policy to celebrate every staff member's birthday in this manner, whether teacher or lunch lady.

At Tarlington Hall in London, the celebration of birthdays was discouraged, whether staff or pupil. All of the students came from wealthy families. They would have overindulged and extravagant birthday parties at home; best not to make it a popularity contest at school. While the teaching staff had warmed to Louisa and her unaffected ways, they were a competitive lot and there had been some ruffled feathers when this outsider had won a coveted senior teaching position.

So Louisa made her way directly home to her bedsit. No pub night with friends this year, she thought sadly. Dejectedly she picked up her mail without looking at it. No point really. Dad wasn't allowed to write many letters from prison. Mum, well, she wasn't very good with dates and regardless, Louisa hadn't sent her a forwarding address.

Locking the door behind her, Louisa dropped the advertisements and bills onto the kitchen counter. She switched on her computer. There were several congratulatory emails and electronic birthday cards from Port Wenn and other distant friends. Holly had sent an email inviting her to a trendy restaurant next Saturday night.

Suddenly Louisa remembered that her mobile was still switched off. Tarlington Hall did not permit staff to receive private telephone calls while at work unless it was an emergency. As she moved to pick up the mobile, her arm brushed against the mail, knocking it to the floor. That was when she noticed the lemon coloured envelope with the barely decipherable handwriting. Illegible doctor's scrawl; she had often teased him about it, offering to teach him how to make his letters more discernable.

A birthday card from Martin. Would wonders never cease? She had not expected to hear from him again prior to her visit home in seven weeks time. Caroline and Lindsay had promised not to tell anyone about her return. Now two cards in two months. Astonishing. She ripped open the envelope then paused to take a deep breath. Don't be disappointed, don't overinflate your expectations this time, she cautioned herself. Would there be a gift enclosure? Perhaps a gift card for a book or CD? It's enough that he remembered your birthday, she admonished herself.

It was an art card this time, Monet's lilies. Holding her breath she opened it.

Louisa,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I hope you are feeling better.

Martin

Okay, not bad. He never was one for sentiment. At least this indicated he was interested; that must mean he wanted to renew contact of some kind with her. Hopefully more than pen pals. Inquiring after her health? Obviously Lindsay had mentioned the insomnia and weight loss to him on her return to Port Wenn in March. Nice of him to inquire; clearly he was showing her more than mere professional courtesy.

Louisa placed the birthday card beside his other card on her night stand. She should do something to reward him. Perhaps it was time to drop her pride and her self-imposed embargo on contact. It wasn't fair not to respond a second time and he deserved to be told that she was planning on visiting in less than two months time. Martin wasn't one for surprises.

Perhaps she should phone him? No, Martin was rubbish on the phone at the best of times, usually fractious and abrupt. She did not want to chance it that they might quarrel or say something they didn't mean.

A brief note would be much safer. She would write it now before her doubts could overwhelm her. Thank goodness she had the package of note cards from the Tarlington Hall fundraiser. She went immediately to her desk, pulled one out and began to write.

Three torn up cards later she had settled on a message sufficiently to her liking. Time to stop before she drove herself crazy second guessing how Martin would interpret the content.

Dear Martin,

Thank you for the two lovely cards. It was very thoughtful of you to remember my birthday. My health is improving, I was just a little run down. I plan to spend most of my summer holiday in Port Wenn, arriving in early July.

See you then,

Louisa

It was the last line that had given her the most trouble. "Hope to see you" might have given away her true feelings. "Let's get together" might have seemed presumptuous. He might have interpreted it to mean "Let's get back together" or that she thought they should. Time would only tell whether that was the right course of action or whether they both should move on. Best to be prudent.

Before she could rewrite the note a fourth time, she shoved it quickly into its envelope. Now Martin would know she was coming home. No going back. Sealing the envelope felt like she was sealing her fate.

X X X X

To be continued …


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

She chewed absentmindedly on her fingernail until she realized what she was doing then quickly withdrew it from her mouth, chastising herself. It was just as well she hadn't splurged for a manicure before leaving London; it would have been quite wasted by now. Dismally Louisa surveyed the ragged edges of her nails; solid evidence that her nerves were in tatters. Oh well, the new summer outfits and shoes would have to suffice. The nice woman behind the cosmetics counter at Boots had helped her select several new lipstick and nail polish shades.

She hoped the extravagance of visiting Holly's hair stylist would pay off. Louisa had blanched at the prices but Holly had been adamant that Louisa, always so frugal, deserved to treat herself for once. Following a brief battle of wills with the condescending hair stylist, she had agreed to a slightly more tapered and trimmed cut along with a hot oil conditioning treatment to repair the damage from London's smog. She had been more than satisfied when she looked in the mirror; she hoped someone else would be too.

But she was still looked somewhat thin and tired. Between the hectic workload of marking exams, writing report cards and the final parent-teacher conferences during the past two weeks, she was absolutely exhausted. Coupled with the excitement, trepidation and apprehension of returning home to the inevitable village gossip and to Martin Ellingham, she had lost some of the weight and sleep gained back since March. Still, she looked markedly better than she did four months ago.

The bright July sunshine on the increasingly verdant landscape she viewed from the train window drew her attention momentarily away from her worries. How good it was to be out of London, to be approaching the ocean and her home. Whatever else transpired during her five weeks in Port Wenn, Louisa was determined to enjoy the sea, surf and sand.

Whether the relationship guides Lindsay had recommended would actually do anything to improve her relationship with Martin remained to be seen. Louisa did have to admit that between the exercises, reading and using Lindsay as a sounding board, she had learned a few things about herself. Having always prided herself at being very good managing people, it had surprised her to discover that she wasn't quite as good at it as she thought, particularly when it came to Martin.

During her interview for Head Teacher of Port Wenn Primary, she had claimed that one of her greatest strengths was being a good listener. Pupils, teachers, parents and friends all had said the same over the years. But how many times had she cut off Martin in mid-sentence, exasperated when he had tried to explain something to her? How often had she grown impatient and misinterpreted his words or actions? Had she bothered to ask enough questions when perplexed by his behaviour? Or drawn him out when he clammed up or encouraged him to continue when he appeared too shy or embarrassed to do so?

So many of their interactions had descended into miscommunication and misunderstandings followed much later by awkwardly sincere apologies. Much of the time if they weren't shouting at each other, they were bickering. Mostly it was a contest of wills. Many people thought her kind, patient, compassionate; traits rarely in evidence when she interacted with Martin. Yes, he was offensive, obstinate, maddening …

There were a hundred negative words to describe Dr. Ellingham, yet amongst the nine-hundred-and-ninety-six inhabitants of Port Wenn she was the only one he had sought out repeatedly, attempting to form a relationship with her despite their self-imposed obstacles.

She had impressed upon every class, every student she had ever taught, the importance of keeping an open mind, to never stop listening or learning. To listen meant that you were still prepared to learn. How could you encourage others to learn if you refused to do so yourself? Perhaps she could learn to do better with Martin.

She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew the train was slowly lurching side to side as it made its way into the Bodmin Parkway Station. She scanned the platform. There was Lindsay waiting for her, face slightly obscured by the journal she was reading. As Louisa stepped off the train onto the platform, Lindsay moved forward to greet her.

"Finally. Welcome back to Port Wenn, Louisa Glasson!"

Home at last.

X X X X

Had the hill become steeper in her absence? She was breathless and her heart was racing. Surely all that swimming in the Olympic sized swimming pool at Tarlington Hall had kept her equally as fit as the days when she regularly climbed the hills of Port Wenn? Stopping to catch her breath, she sat on a wooden bench just down the road from Martin's surgery. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach told her this was more about apprehension than athleticism. Perhaps she had been naïve not to expect after eight months that she would be so anxious about seeing him again.

Thank goodness she had slept soundly last night. Whether it was the bottle of wine that accompanied dinner at Lindsay's home or the frank talk and camaraderie, the rest had been peaceful and restorative. To stave off the gossip and speculation regarding her homecoming, Caroline, Lindsay and Louisa had decided it was best for the village not to know about her return until she was actually present. The only other informed person was Martin and as he socialized with nobody these days, even Joan, it was unlikely he would spread the news. That is if he cared, she had not heard from him again.

Until Louisa walked down the hill from Lindsay's home at lunchtime, her appearance was kept secret. Lindsay's home was eleven short blocks above the Front. It took Louisa over an hour to cover that distance; such was the keen interest in her return. Word spread quickly. Most people were genuinely welcoming, some curious, a very few whispered that she hadn't the guts to succeed in the big city and had come crawling back with her tail between her legs.

She had a late lunch with Caroline at a cafe, strolled the familiar streets, chatted with shopkeepers and former pupils, and had a late afternoon glass of wine at the pub to fortify her for this task. She figured that by now the jungle drums had been beating loud enough that Pauline would have heard of her return and spread the news throughout the Surgery. At precisely six o'clock she had made her way up the hill to arrive unannounced at Martin's back door. She knocked tentatively.

X X X X

To be continued …


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note:

Some readers have been wondering, and rightly so, about the aftermath of Martin's appointment with Dr. Travers. Rest assured that this has not been forgotten in the arc of the story nor in the advance plotting. However, sometimes a chapter is largely written from the perspective of one character and that character does not always know what is in the mind of another nor what has transpired in their lives. With Louisa and Martin this always leads to misassumptions.

Chapter Fourteen

The second time she knocked louder and longer. While waiting for the door to open she reviewed her plan of action, well, plans of action. If Martin greeted her warmly and invited her in, she would focus their conversation on catching up since they last saw each other. Purely safe topics would be canvassed: his medical practice, his clocks, Joan. Then she reckoned she would invite him out for coffee on Thursday evening. Maybe even convey to him how glad she was to see him.

Plan B was the contingency if he seemed cold and distant. Then she would only converse as a patient consulting her physician. She had a plantar wart on the sole of her foot, a minor complaint but it would do. After the consultation she would leave before he could disappoint her further.

"Louisa."

Preoccupied as she was with her deliberations, she hadn't heard him open the door. He was looking straight at her with eyes wide open, the hint of a smile curving his lips upward. For a moment neither spoke, so absorbed was each in simply cataloguing the list of changes that eight months of emotional turmoil had wrought on the other.

He didn't appear overly surprised to see her. Evidently the jungle drums had reached Pauline this afternoon. "You're back then."

That fact was obvious. Irritated by the flatness of his tone her reply was stinging. "Only for a holiday."

"Oh."

"Uh huh." A long awkward pause ensued. She looked at the ground. So did he.

She had considered that if he looked particularly pleased to see her, she might risk a light peck on his cheek, maybe even a warm but not lingering pat on his hand. No chance of that now. He was simply staring at her vacantly, holding the door wide open but making no offer to invite her in.

Onto Plan B then. "I have a small medical problem which requires your advice. I don't have a GP yet in London."

If he was disappointed that this appeared to be the sole reason for her arrival at his door after eight long months, his demeanor gave no indication. His features quickly rearranged themselves into his characteristic professional glare.

"Of course. Please come through."

He moved backwards to let her inside the kitchen. She barely had time to glance round; he motioned her quickly into the examining room and onto the examining table. He sat down on the stool in front of her, waiting for her to speak.

No chit chat then; right down to business. "It's a wart, probably picked up at the pool where I swim. The school nurse recommended an over the counter liquid but it hasn't helped. If anything it seems to have spread the problem farther."

"Take off your shoe, please, so that I can examine the affected area."

As she unstrapped the expensive high heeled black leather sandal she had splurged on last week in Chelsea, she realized unhappily that Martin hadn't bothered to notice her attractive footwear. He had already turned away to put on a pair of latex gloves and to pick up a large magnifying glass.

He wheeled himself back to her. "Rest your foot on my thigh, please, so that I can have a better look."

She stretched out her slender leg, placing her foot gently onto his thigh near the knee; physical contact at last. Fleetingly she blushed, remembering the last time he had been in such close proximity to her bare foot and exposed calf. Martin did not appear to notice. His head bent downwards, his facial expression cold and clinical. She marveled at his concentration.

Holding her ankle gently in one of his large gloved hands, he looked carefully through the magnifying glass. "Human Papilloma Virus."

"Pardon?" His words shook her out of her reverie.

"My diagnosis. A plantar wart. Actually a mosaic cluster of about five, no, six pin prick sized warts. Highly contagious. It lives in warm, moist places such as showers and public pools. You spend a lot of time at that pool?"

"Yes, I try to swim three mornings a week before I start work, I mean before the students arrive. The pool is located at the school where I teach, you see."

"Ah."

Evidently he didn't. Not even an inquiry regarding her new job. Briskly he moved his knee away to stand up, leaving her foot dangling loosely in mid-air. He snapped off the gloves and threw them into the bin. So much for his admiring the pedicure she had spent an hour giving herself this morning. So much for noticing the new Pink Pearl nail polish on her toenails that she and the nice Boots lady had taken the time to match with a series of lipsticks.

"That school nurse should have sent you to a GP. He or she would have used liquid nitrogen to freeze off the wart. Instead you covered it with a salicylic solution, likely forty percent, which I surmise has done nothing to alleviate the problem. Did she also recommend scrubbing the affected area with a pumice stone?"

"Yes, thrice a week after bathing."

"Lovely. That spread the virus further around and into your skin. Idiot."

"Martin! Don't you dare insult me! I did as I was instructed."

"Not you. Her. She's made your condition worse."

"It's just a wart, Martin, not a tropical disease. Hardly a case for malpractice."

"Can you come back here on Thursday evening at six?"

Good. An invitation to dinner. Louisa was pleased.

X X X X

"Yes, I can be here Thursday evening at six. That would be fine," Louisa responded enthusiastically.

"Good. I'll freeze off the wart then with liquid nitrogen. Virtually painless. Should only take about ten minutes in total, leaving you free for whatever … er … evening plans you may have."

"Oh." Good thing she hadn't offered to bring dessert.

Martin stood by the door. Apparently the consultation was now over. Dejectedly she buckled on the sandal and hopped off the examining table. Without waiting for her, Martin walked out of the room and over to the filing cabinet beside Pauline's desk. He opened the second drawer and flipped through the patients' notes until he found hers. He sat down at Pauline's desk, took out a pen and began scribbling away, engrossed in his task.

Louisa stood for a moment in front of him; there appeared to be little left to say. Humiliated, she made for the back door. "Thank you for seeing me right away, Martin." Best to keep their professional relationship cordial.

"Louisa, one more thing."

She stopped in her tracks, lingering expectantly. Maybe he had just been waiting until his medical services were no longer required before he could switch into his other role as her jilted lover. Quite right, most professional.

"Yes, Martin," she replied expectantly, holding her breath.

"We really should do a blood test. You're looking a little peaky. Make an appointment with Pauline when you have time."

She slammed the door behind her, steaming down the hill just as she had done so many times before. Nothing between them had changed.

They were off to a rocky start.

X X X X

To be continued …


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Louisa had left before he had the opportunity to say goodbye. She must have been in quite a hurry. No doubt off to see friends, she always was tremendously popular in the village. Shame really, he had wanted to ask her something. It could wait. Martin filed away her patient's notes and left billing instructions for Pauline.

As he prepared a light supper that evening he thought about their encounter. He had been surprised that she had come to see him so quickly after her arrival in Port Wenn. It had left him thoroughly unprepared, flustering him so acutely that he had reverted back to his old habit of simply staring at her. This had both frustrated and disappointed him in equal measure.

Since Pauline had given him the news of Louisa's arrival, he had been practicing all afternoon, between patients, the things he might say to welcome Louisa back, to put them both at ease and to alleviate some of the inevitable tension. Dr. Travers had suggested this might relieve the awkwardness; spontaneity was never Martin's strong suit. But instead he had panicked, drawing a blank at the door, unable to retrieve the phrases of welcome previously stored away in his brain.

Luckily she had wanted to see him on a medical matter and thus his social ineptitude had gone unnoticed. He liked helping Louisa; it was something he was good at and something she appreciated. So their first encounter had gone quite well then.

They were off to a good start.

X X X X

After supper Martin practiced his relaxation and desensitization exercises. This week he was supposed to review a CD of a double by-pass heart surgery. Plenty of blood there. If he could watch the entire operation by the end of the week without vomiting, he would be doing well. He thought he could do it.

Afterwards he wanted to work on what he would say to Louisa on Thursday evening. Three weeks ago Dr. Travers had suggested that he write down ideas and structure for dialogue whenever they came into his head. That way he would be less flustered, more in control when the appropriate situation arose. He had practiced some of these new communication skills on Joan whenever they had dinner together and Lindsay during their patient conferences.

At his weekly appointment seven weeks ago, in mid-May, he had surprised Dr. Travers with his newfound enthusiasm for their conversations concerning his depression. Mostly reticent and passive throughout the prior six weeks of treatment, on this day there appeared a sea change in Martin's behaviour. While always ready and disciplined to work on curing his blood phobia, on this day Martin freely volunteered to discuss his apprehensions and doubts regarding Louisa. There was a fresh focus, a new resolve to the man, even a brighness.

Puzzled, Dr. Travers was at a loss for an explanation until of his own accord Martin removed Louisa's now slightly tattered note from his breast pocket. Showing it to the psychologist, he said he hoped that the good doctor would now terminate all the psychological mumbo jumbo regarding childhood traumas, cut to the chase, earn his money and explain how Martin could make a fresh start with Louisa in July, if that were remotely possible.

Whatever the outcome with Louisa, for the first time in months she was close by. This comforted him; for the first time in months his heart was measurably lighter. Martin took up his pen to write.

X X X X

Lindsay Goldman finished her second glass of Merlot. She and Louisa agreed to split the remaining contents of the bottle although her friend sounded like she could benefit from it more. She was the one who had spent the last ten minutes alternately complaining and lamenting about Martin Ellingham.

"But Louisa what did you expect?" Lindsay said as she poured the wine. "You were at his cottage less than five minutes before you asked his advice about a medical complaint. Was he supposed to ignore his professional duty and invite you in for tea?"

"Yes but I only asked him about the medical complaint because he didn't seem much interested in anything else about me." She was sulky.

"But you don't know that! Martin never has been forthcoming about showing his emotions unless they involve anger, contempt or condescension. Perhaps he just didn't know how to welcome you. It was your choice not to contact him with your date of arrival."

"Why should I? He never responded to my note." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how childish they sounded. This wasn't like her. Why couldn't she keep things in perspective when it came to Martin?

"For Heaven's sake, Louisa, give the poor man a break."

Louisa grew huffy. Lindsay usually defended her actions, not Martin's. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Lindsay sat back on the couch and swirled her wine before speaking. She contemplated judiciously her next words. "My dear friend, you expect a great deal from yourself and you have very high expectations of other people, not everyone can meet those expectations so readily."

"What's wrong with having high standards? Given my family history, it's a wonder I have any standards at all."

"I didn't say standards. I said expectations. They're not quite the same thing. You expect a lot from people, particularly Martin." Louisa looked at her quizzically, ready to interrupt.

Lindsay raised her hand. "Let me finish. You have always thought of Martin as potential husband material and for that reason your expectations of him run especially high. So show some patience. Look, whenever we had a conference with a family regarding a student with a learning problem, what is it you drummed into the parents' heads?"

Louisa shook her head, uncertain what Lindsay meant.

"If we continue to do the same things with the student that we have always done, if we continue the same patterns of behaviour, then how can we expect any different response from the student except the same result as always?"

Lindsay took another sip of wine as she let Louisa absorb her own words. "As exasperating as I find him, I get the impression lately that Martin is trying to connect with you. So why rush to condemn him?"

Louisa did not answer. She sipped her wine slowly. Maybe it was time for a bit of a rethink.

X X X X

To be continued …


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

On Thursday evening at exactly six o'clock Louisa presented herself at the front door of Martin's surgery. Given that she had been summoned here as Martin's patient she was under no illusions this was a pretext to a social visit. She was still fuming at him for taking the upper hand during their first meeting, for turning it into an exclusively doctor-patient encounter. Whenever he hid behind his physician's mantle he managed to wrest all the control, leaving her reactive and off-kilter, two responses she abhorred.

Why couldn't they finally establish some mutual equilibrium? While she heeded Lindsay's advice from Tuesday evening, she was only prepared to forgive him if he was prepared to step out of the comfort of his medical role. She now questioned whether he saw her as anything more than his patient.

She pushed open the front door. The waiting room and Pauline had emptied out an hour ago. She and Martin would be quite alone. Where was he?

"Martin, it's Louisa. I'm here for my appointment."

His voice boomed from the kitchen. "Please go through to the examining room. I will be with you momentarily."

She walked through to his office, noting on the way that nothing had changed, still the same uncomfortable waiting chairs, ugly wallpaper and scarcity of reading material. She hoisted her body onto the examining table and removed both her trainers. This time she hadn't bothered to wear another pair of new shoes, it wasn't worth it if he wasn't going to notice.

Martin came in from the direction of the kitchen. After explaining the procedure, he applied the liquid nitrogen to the affected area of her foot. The discomfort was minor and receded quickly. She leant back on the table, resting on both elbows, long legs outstretched and feet extended over the edge of the table so that Martin could monitor for any adverse dermatological reaction. He sat on the stool beside her.

"Just to be sure," he added. "Only for a few minutes."

Louisa remained silent. She felt no desire to initiate dialogue.

Martin cleared his throat. "So how are you enjoying your stay in Port Wenn?"

Spoken as politely as if she was a bloody tourist rather than the woman he had once declared he could not live without.

"It's lovely to be home again."

"And how long are you here for?"

"Five weeks, I've been staying with Lindsay over the past few days. Tomorrow I move on to Caroline and Tom Bosman's. I'm housesitting for them while they're in California. They depart on Saturday. Caroline's leaving me her car."

"That will be convenient for you. If I remember correctly their home is a bit of a distance outside the village."

"Yes, it's somewhat secluded. Too far to walk or bicycle."

"Yes."

Silence ensued. He seemed to have run out of words.

This time she felt compelled to fill the silence, given the vulnerability of her physical stance, her body stretched out before him. "I'm quite looking forward to it after my cramped quarters in London. That big house all to myself, not another neighbour in plain sight and that beautifully outfitted spacious kitchen. Caroline's quite a gourmet cook. She has all the latest appliances and gadgetry. I will be able to practice my cooking skills. Didn't have much of an opportunity to do that in London, most nights after work I was too knackered to cook."

"Hence your weight loss."

Angrily she sat bolt upright, drawing her feet towards her. Back to playing doctor, time for her to go. "Are we done then?"

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Is my medical procedure completed? No sign of a reaction?"

He reached over to pick up her foot with his gloved hand. After examining the sole carefully he said, "No reaction. Yes, we're finished."

"Fine." Without waiting for his permission to do so, she hopped down from the table and put on her shoes. She concentrated on tying the left shoelace, her head bent down to her task, brushing away the stray hairs falling around her face.

"Good. We're done here … I … um … was … ah … wondering whether you had eaten dinner yet?"

That was an incredibly silly question. Surely he knew her habits by now. "No Martin," she answered tartly, "of course I didn't have dinner before this appointment. The only time I ever ate that early was when we were … when we ate together."

"Oh … right. So you haven't eaten. Well … would you like to have dinner with me?"

She stopped tying a shoelace to stare up at him as he towered over her. "What? Tonight? Now?" It was her turn to be taken by surprise.

"Yes. I was just finishing the preparations when you arrived. There is enough food for two."

So it was just a last minute invitation then. Not as if he had put much thought or effort into it. Just an overabundance of food that should not be wasted.

"No but thank you for the invitation," she answered politely,, squelching her disappointment. "I'm meeting friends from Port Wenn Primary for dinner at seven at the Crab and Lobster." She finished tying the second shoelace and stood up, smoothing out her cotton pants with her palms.

He stepped back out of her way, looking somewhat crestfallen. She had no idea what that was about and didn't care. She just wanted to leave.

"If we're done here I should be on my way. Don't want to be late for my friends."

"No, certainly. Punctuality is a virtue. Perhaps another time."

He motioned for her to exit through the back door. As soon as she walked into the kitchen she came to an abrupt halt. What she saw there was so completely unexpected as to take her breath away.

The kitchen table was covered with a cornflower blue tablecloth and matching striped linen napkins. A blue and white vase filled with pink and white roses sat in the middle of the table beside a crystal pitcher full of water. The table was set with place settings and silverware for two. On the countertop a burnished walnut bowl stood full to the top with tossed field greens. To its right lay a wicker basket filled with whole wheat buns and rye bread slices. A rose coloured platter held a variety of cheeses, grapes and sliced apple. A small puff of steam emanated from a double boiler. The smell of something heavenly wafted out of the cooker.

"Oh, Martin! This looks lovely. Was I to be your guest for dinner?"

He looked embarrassed. "It's nothing really. I thought perhaps you didn't get too many homecooked meals prepared for you in London. Thought you might … ah … enjoy one."

He walked over to the double boiler, checked the stalks of broccoli steaming inside and switched off the gas beneath.

"What's in the cooker? It smells wonderful." She smiled her broadest smile at him hoping to telegraph her pleasure. Time to make amends.

"Fish and spinach pie. The pastry is made from wholewheat flour. I made it myself last night. Took two tries before the crust came out light and flaky." He starred bashfully at the ground.

"All of this effort just for me? Thank you so much. I'm truly sorry that I can't stay. Mary and Sally are probably already at the restaurant, it's too late to cancel now."

"Certainly not. You have a previous commitment."

Louisa bit her lip, deep in thought. "How about postponing dinner until this weekend?"

"I doubt the fish pie will keep until then. Bacteria builds up daily on uneaten food and the reheating process does not necessarily eradicate all of the toxins. Fish in particular only stays at maximum freshness for two days. By Saturday this pie will be a health hazard."

Louisa couldn't help laughing. She looked up at him with affection. "Oh Martin. I didn't mean it literally. Yes, I imagine that by Saturday the fish will be off, the bread stale and the salad greens wilted. You eat this lovely meal yourself or with Joan. I was rather thinking that perhaps you would like to come over to Caroline's house on Sunday night for dinner. I'll cook for you. Gives me an opportunity to test out that fabulously appointed kitchen. How does six-thirty sound?"

Martin's eyes widened. "Optimum."

"See you on Sunday then." As she opened the door she paused momentarily to flash him a quick smile over her shoulder. Then she was gone.

X X X X

To be continued …


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

She hadn't intended to invite him for dinner. It had been a gesture borne of shock and sheer delight that he had cared enough to prepare her a meal. So his concern for her exceeded his medical obligations. Excellent. Wanting to show her pleasure and gratitude, needing to telegraph to him her appreciation, in the split second before Louisa made her invitation several logistical problems surfaced in her mind.

First, it would have been much easier to have taken Martin out to dinner at a local restaurant. She wasn't familiar with Caroline's kitchen therefore learning the idiosyncrasies of the cooker, food processor and convection oven might take a few days. Burnt or underdone fish or fowl might have offended Martin's tender palate and olfactory senses.

Second, dining out locally made more sense but anywhere they went within a thirty minute drive of Port Wenn meant they were bound to encounter people they knew. These would likely have little compunction to gawk and gossip about the reunited ex-lovers.

All things considered it was best to invite Martin to Caroline's on Sunday evening. The sparsely traveled road and distance between homes guaranteed that Martin's Lexus parked in the driveway would draw little attention. Inviting him for coffee would be the prudent choice. Less fuss and if the conversation lagged or deteriorated into a row, it wouldn't be difficult for either to extricate themselves from the situation.

Louisa remembered sadly the evening she had stormed out of Martin's cottage when he had been taking care of Peter Cronk. She had complimented him and instead of his accepting it gracefully, he had grown suspicious of her intentions, insinuating that she was only attempting to shore up his support of her candidacy for Head Teacher.

Given the obvious lengths Martin had gone to making her dinner on Thursday evening and considering how it wasn't really fair to ask him to drive all the way out to the Bosman house just for a cup of coffee, she elected for dinner.

X X X X

Now at six-fifteen on Sunday evening as she rushed around the kitchen checking the saucepans and the cooker, setting out the cutlery and folding the beautiful paper napkins she had bought, she was filled with trepidation. Was this really such a good idea after all? Two medical visits and a couple of cards had been the sum total of their communication over these past eight months. How could they possibly get through one dinner alone together?

While these worried thoughts percolated in her brain, she heard the inevitable knock at the front door. Three things caught her off guard when she opened it. Martin wasn't wearing a tie with his suit, the top two buttons were open on his shirt and he carried a gift bag.

After she let him in he thrust a bag at her determinedly with outstretched arms. "For you," he said gruffly.

"Why thank you, Martin. It wasn't necessary for you to bring any thing."

He didn't move from his spot inside the entry way. She realized he was waiting expectantly for her to open the hostess gift, like a child on Christmas morning.

She broke the seal on the paper and pulled out a bottle of red wine, a rather expensive one. "This is a very good year and from a label and vintner that I really like but rarely indulge in."

A glint of a grin surfaced on Martin's face. He looked pleased with himself. "I know. I asked John at the pub, seeing as how you used to be a regular patron. He remembered that your friends ordered a bottle for your thirty-seventh birthday party."

"Will you join me in a glass tonight?"

"Um … no, thank you. Given that alcohol has a narcoleptic effect on my brain and nervous system, I'd prefer water."

She chuckled, relieving the tension. "As I thought. I bought a bottle of Perrier still water. Come in to the kitchen, I'll just open this to breathe."

For the next few minutes they busied themselves in the final preparations of their meal. Louisa hadn't had time to finish the salad. She decided to give Martin the job. It gave him something to focus on and left her free to concentrate on completing the other tasks without having to generate small talk.

Over the starter of antipasto and the entrée of braised ribs, duchesse potatoes, sautéed kale and salad, Louisa gingerly steered them through a maze of uncontroversial and wide-ranging topics. She bore witness to Martin's efforts to answer in more than monosyllables and single sentences. Little did she know that he had spent much of Sunday rehearsing questions to ask her and thinking of safe topics to fill the inevitable gaps.

Whenever the conversation strained or flagged, she lightly maneuvered them on to new subjects, sometimes regaling him with funny anecdotes about her new students and her readjustment to life in a cosmopolitan city. By dessert they were discussing Martin's favourite restaurants in London and he was offering to make up a list complete with price ranges and maps that she could take back to London in August.

As she put on the kettle for tea, she thought it time to pack away the small talk and broach the real reason they were sitting opposite each other tonight. She had rehearsed her plan of action, and fortified by a second glass of wine, thought she was now as ready as she would ever be.

X X X X

Studying his face carefully, she said, "You look quite a bit thinner than when I saw you last, are you quite well? Have you been working too hard?"

She could hear the legs of his chair scrape backwards as he pushed away forcefully from the table. For the first time that evening the gentleness vanished from his face, replaced by hardened, guarded features.

"I am just fine, thank you." He was wary now, on edge.

"I'm not judging, Martin. I was just … uh … worried. You do look thinner and very tired. I'm just stating the obvious; surely you noticed it yourself. Is this village pushing you into too many late nights and weekends on call? Maybe it's time for a second doctor for the Port Wenn area? You should speak to Chris Parsons about it."

In the next moment Martin's choice of actions made all the difference between the evening coming to a crashing halt and the barest opening of a new pathway for them. He understood her intent: she was expressing genuine concern for his welfare. He had missed that these past eight months. He chose not to reject it nor throw it back into her strikingly beautiful face.

"I'm not terribly overworked. It's just … "He went silent, reluctant to talk about himself, but really wasn't that what he had been working on with Dr. Travers for the past three months? Wasn't that part of the objective, to stop repressing his feelings, to allow them to surface and be processed?

"Yes?" she prompted him, fearing to push him too far, worried that he would shut down and gird himself in his usual defensive armour.

He mumbled, "I've just been a bit run down lately. Sort of lost my appetite …"He stared down at his hands, stealing a quick peak at her face. "Kind of like you?"

"Yes, Martin," she answered gently. "Kind of like me." She surveyed the purple splotches underneath his eyes and the pallor of his skin. "Not sleeping well either? A bit listless? Kind of like me?" Her voice was kind; inquisitive but not intrusive.

He nodded. She waited patiently for further affirmation. When he didn't give it, she left the table to fill the teapot full of water. She understood that if there were to be any further revelations tonight, they would have to be initiated by her.

Keeping her back to him, she slowly stirred the teabags in the pot. "Seems like you and I suffer from the same symptoms." She saw an almost imperceptible nod of his head. She longed to stroke the closely cropped hair, to gently glide her hand across it in a gesture of comfort. "In my case I guess it was mostly about missing Port Wenn."

He turned around to look at her. "Don't you like London? Joan heard that you have an excellent job there."

Louisa brought the teapot to the table. She concentrated on pouring tea for them both before she spoke again. "I was fortunate to land a very good job but I miss my old school. Somehow what happens at Port Wenn Primary seems more important. How the children are educated here can make a huge difference to their futures and the school is so interwoven into the welfare of the village. At Tarlington Hall, where I currently teach, the students come from very wealthy families. Sometimes I get the impression that neither the parents nor the students care very much about which school they go to. One posh school is as good as the next, it seems."

She poured milk into her tea. "And no, to answer your second question, "I don't much like London. Oh, it was great fun twenty years ago when I was an idealistic, carefree, young student. But it's different for me now. I've come to realize that the things I most value in life are right here."

She stopped stirring her tea and looked directly into his pale blue, anxious eyes.

X X X X

To be continued …


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Martin's eyes opened wide in abject terror. He didn't know how to respond. He analyzed her words. Was she talking about missing Port Wenn Primary or this little village or what? Did she miss him, did she still value him? If he asked her point blank and she said no, how very embarrassed he would be to have laid bare his vulnerability and longing.

And if her answer was no, she had not missed him, then he wasn't certain that on this, only their third encounter, that he wanted to hear it. He would work harder to convince her to change her mind. He thought he could, and if not, there was always the consolation prize of his probable return to surgery and a ticket out of Cornwall.

What to do? Wasn't this the opportunity he had been longing for all these months? To be all alone with Louisa, face to face, no interruptions at the door or on the phone. To tell her what she meant to him, how much he had missed her. But he couldn't muster the courage; he was deeply disappointed in himself.

The seconds were accumulating and still he did not respond. Her frustration and bitter disappointment mounted. The opportunity passed. On the pretext of fetching more milk from the refrigerator, ruefully she left the table so as not to have to face him. It allowed her breathing space in which to think.

There would be no earnest declarations of love this evening, no race upstairs to her bedroom, Caroline's guest bedroom actually, to make passionate love to each other. No quick and final resolution to their mutual heartbreak, she thought scornfully.

And then Louisa laughed aloud. What? Was she some helpless heroine in a romance novel where a few words and a quick roll in the hay magically fixed everything? Hadn't she and Martin rushed into things before and look where it had gotten them? Full of misgivings, doubts and regrets. Hadn't Lindsay urged patience, cautioning Louisa not to repeat the familiar pattern of expecting too much too soon?

There was no urgency here, no pressure. No commitment existed between them, no child or marriage that demanded an immediate decision. By agreeing not to get married they had renounced all legal claims on each other. But the mere fact that they were sitting here tonight, still wanting and caring for one another, was testament to the depth and endurance of their mutual feelings.

Neither of them took sex lightly, especially when they were together. Their undeniably mutually intense attraction was ever present, even tonight but it had always been coupled with a deep respect. Sex between them meant more than just physical pleasure, however wonderfully satisfying that was. It was a heartfelt expression of their love, trust and mutual admiration. No, they wouldn't be jumping into bed tonight, however much she yearned for him. That wasn't likely to happen until they had repaired the damage and recommitted to being a couple. She feared her definition of marriage still differed widely from his.

She took the milk carton out of the refrigerator and unnecessarily refilled the pitcher on the table. Martin said nothing, sitting stiffly in his chair, hands fidgeting, silently watching her movements out of the corner of his eye. She poured more milk into her already full teacup; liquid lapped the china sides and spilled over into the saucer. Time to practice those communication skills.

"So how come you've not been eating and sleeping well?"

"I don't know exactly. I've been out of sorts lately. Restless. Port Wenn doesn't hold much interest for me these days."

"How so?"

He said nothing. She sought, with forbearance, to draw him out. She struggled to keep her voice level.

"But you've got your medical practice. That you've always found fulfilling."

"There is more to medicine than diagnosing gastrointestinal upsets and prescribing analgesics. Not every field of medicine is so one dimensional. Besides, I can be a physician anywhere. My skills are portable beyond the boundaries of Port Wenn."

What did that mean? Was he thinking of leaving? Because of her or in spite of her? Louisa quieted down a rising alarm in her brain. She chose to shelve her concern until she had time for contemplation. If Martin wasn't interested in her then he wouldn't have come tonight.

"But you have family here. You've always said that Joan has been very good to you."

"The only member of my family who has. But that doesn't seem to be sufficient to fill this void."

"What void?"

"Lately I've felt an emptiness. That life is passing me by."

"Like something is missing? Unfulfilled?"

He brightened. "Yes, that's exactly right." She seemed to comprehend him.

If he wasn't daring enough to take the plunge then she would have to. At least he showed no signs of bolting from his chair or storming out the door.

"Me too. I've felt it too. That something is missing."

He raised his head to glance at her furtively. Nervously he fingered his open collar where the knot in his tie would normally be. "Oh, yes?" he prompted her.

"Maybe we were both missing the same thing?" Her voice was soft, imploring him.

Martin willed himself not to rush out, to escape, to shy away from the emotional intensity of the moment. He so wanted to hear her answer. He closely examined his hands, horrified to see that they were perspiring. "Um … what is that?"

"Each other."

X X X X

Martin swallowed hard. He inhaled a long, soothing breath. What was that trite platitude Dr. Travers had rambled on about? If you don't tell someone how you feel about them, how are they expected to know? But this was simply too much of a gamble. With the exception of Joan and Uncle Phil, so many times in his earlier life he had been rebuffed or spurned by those whom he had loved or attempted to befriend: his parents, boys at boarding school, fellow students at university, Edith.

This woman sitting patiently in front of him, deserving of some sort of response, was very likely the most important person in his life, ever. If he didn't give the perfect answer might she too reject him? He had a penchant for saying the wrong thing to her. It had happened twice before, the third time likely would prove fatal and final.

He took the risk. "I concur with your diagnosis. If so, what is the remedy?"

Not the romantic answer she had been looking for but at least it conveyed interest. "Well, I sort of thought that maybe we could help each other." Her green eyes captivated his. She placed her hands down flatly on the table in front of her. She became still.

He looked directly at her, puzzled. She felt as if she was speaking to one of her young students, instructing him in a life lesson, framing it in terms he could comprehend. It struck her that she was doing exactly that. This insecure, intensely lonely man, bereft of happy life experiences, positive relationships and role models, simply did not know how to proceed. Perchance she could teach him.

"Martin, I have missed you. Very much," she said tenderly. "Possibly you have missed me too?" Her eyes remained focused on his.

He nodded sorrowfully. He summoned the courage to hold her gaze. "Mmm … every day, Louisa."

"All this listlessness, emptiness, sadness we have evidently both been experiencing, couldn't these be manifested symptoms of that longing?"

He dipped his head affirmatively. He had finally admitted as much six weeks ago to Dr. Travers and to himself.

"Then it would seem to me, but of course I am no doctor, that perhaps spending some time together might just be the antidote. Perhaps the remedy comes in talking, in simply being together, in sorting out our fears. We never did that before. When we should have comforted each other, smoothed out the doubts, instead we bolted in opposite directions. I bolted to London and you … well, I don't know what you did but whatever it was, obviously it hasn't helped. Instead of sprinting away from each other, maybe it is about time that we move towards each other. Anyway, I'm here now, for another four weeks, how about we work on being friends?"

He looked at her in surprise. This was unforeseen. "Friends?"

"Yes, if we are honest about it, we never were that. We fought, bickered and criticized each other for most of our relationship then abruptly we were lovers, sparring partners rushing headlong into marriage. I think that was part of the problem, don't you? We missed that important step along the way. If we can't be friends and companions there isn't much of a foundation for a happy future, is there?"

As he beheld her beauty without and within, he was struck by her grace and generousity. She had not invited him here to accuse or to blame, or to itemize his faults, as so many had previously done in his life. He was well aware of how much he must have hurt and humiliated her on their wedding day when he had told her that she wouldn't make him happy. He had seen it in her tearful eyes and heard it in her stricken voice.

Now her thoughts were only turned towards the future, to bringing them both some solace and comfort, to calming their tortured souls. And how could they learn to make each other happy, if they kept hidden their desires, concerns, doubts?

He nodded in tacit acceptance of her olive branch.

She lifted one of her hands and gently grazed his fingers, fleetingly, in a gesture of truce. She gave him a smile that conveyed love, affection and most importantly, hope.

"Friends it is then."

X X X X

To be continued …


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

In his appointment on Wednesday evening Martin had barely wanted to talk about his latest success with the desensitization exercise, how he had watched the complete open heart surgery CD without feeling nauseous. Instead he spent almost the entire hour engaged in close discussion regarding how to build a friendship with Louisa.

Martin expressed himself perplexed at how to accomplish this feat. It had embarrassed him greatly to admit, even within the confines of the therapeutic relationship, that he never had but a very few friends and had been a dismal failure at keeping even those.

"Well, if you are hoping to develop a long term relationship with this woman, any woman in fact, you are going to have to learn. Just being lovers and professional colleagues won't suffice, as evidenced by your broken engagement."

Martin winced at the memory. It seemed that relationships were like cars, requiring regular maintenance and tune ups.

Dr. Travers continued. "If you two hope to become life partners, you are going to have to become, amongst other things, close friends."

One eyebrow lifted skeptically on Martin's face. "I'm forty-six years old. I've got along swimmingly all these years without a close friend."

"But have you?"

"Of course I have."

"Okay, then tell me, from the date of your non-wedding until now, who besides me, your paid confidante, have you confided in regarding your feelings for Louisa and your consequent emotional distress? Who has been your support system?"

"Er …ah … there is my Aunt Joan. But more than anything she lectures me and …. She rather took up Louisa's side in all this, hectoring me to change my ways. Chalk and cheese, she called Louisa and me. So I haven't discussed the matter with her in months."

"You shut down. So there's nobody then?"

"Years ago I was friendly with some of the other surgeons at the hospital in London. And there's Chris Parsons, of course. But in both cases the discussions mainly focused on the practice of medicine or surgery."

"And that's fine too. It's good to have friends to share your interests but I'm talking about someone special to confide in, to comfort and support you, to care for and about you."

Martin's brain momentarily flashed back to when Louisa had invited him to moan about his parents' visit, how she had worried about him when he had gone into the woods to save Mark Mylow, how she had defended him, almost single-handedly, when the 'Doctor's Friend' threatened to have him removed from practicing in Port Wenn.

"I think Louisa tried from the beginning to be my friend."

"But? Your rejected her?"

"I guess that is one way of putting it. Friends have a way of abandoning me pretty quickly once they get to know me. I didn't have much hope that she would persevere."

"But she did, didn't she? From everything that you have told me about her, it appears that she's held pretty loyal to you, been steadfast even when exasperated or annoyed."

"Um … yes." Martin frowned and stared at the floor.

"What? Looks like you just thought of something."

"I … regret it now … pushing her away." He became silent, absorbed in his thoughts.

Dr. Travers allowed himself a momentary grin which Martin, deep in concentration, failed to spot. Good for you, Martin. You are making progress; beginning to work it out. He said aloud, "Regret can be very productive, transformative even."

"What? What the hell does that mean? Plain English please." Martin scowled but he was listening intently.

"Weren't you just wondering about what might have been if you hadn't spurned Louisa's attempts to befriend you?"

"Yes, what are you, a bloody mind reader?"

Dr. Travers chuckled. "Thanks for the compliment. But no, it's a very common cognitive and emotional response to regret – to think about what might have been had you behaved differently. The crucial thing is to not wallow in that feeling, turn it instead into something motivational."

"How?

"Turn your regrets into something positive. Didn't you spend the first few minutes of this session describing how Louisa still wants to build a friendship with you?'

"Yes. So?"

"So change from what were your past behaviours towards her. Shift your mindset to see this as a positive opportunity, to envision how things between you can be different, better, in the future. The lesson of your regret is not 'I failed with Louisa and now it's too late'. The real lesson, should you decide to learn it, is 'She still wants to be my friend and this time I will embrace that opportunity'.

"I'm not sure that I have anything much to offer her," Martin admitted sadly.

"Bollocks! From what you have told me, she is a highly intelligent woman and an astute judge of human nature. Clearly she has found much in you to value, she has made the choice to seek you out as her friend and lover. Give her the respect and the credit due for making a wise choice and for putting her trust and faith in you. Unless maybe you don't want to be her friend?"

Martin's eyes flashed anger. His fist pounded down on his thigh. "Of course I bloody do otherwise why would I have just wasted an hour of my time and paid you a sack of gold coins to discuss it.?"

Dr. Travers smiled. "Good then, Martin. Make a corrective action. I suggest that as my teenage daughter says, in the common vernacular, 'you go for it', right?"

X X X X

Martin carried himself ramrod straight, filled with pride as he followed Louisa and the Maitre D to their table. Ever observant, he noticed several men and a waiter turn their heads as Louisa walked by. Why not? Tonight she was dressed in an outfit he had not seen before: a multi-coloured floral skirt with a matching lapis lazuli tapered silk blouse, her bare arms sported a light tan and a silver bracelet adorned a slender wrist. Her dark glossy hair was done up in a light twisted knot contained by a silver bow. It was now ten days since she had arrived back home and the effects of the Cornish sun and fresh air had worked their restorative magic in returning her normally glowing complexion. All in all, tonight she was absolutely stunning.

It struck Martin how unbelievably lucky he was to be the escort of such a woman. He thought back to his university days. Then it was the football and other athletic stars who won the attention and affection of the pretty, popular, clever girls, not the introverted bookworms like himself. He still could not understand what perpetually attracted Louisa to him but this time he was determined not to squander the opportunity she had so generously afforded.

He found himself more relaxed tonight then he had been on their previous three encounters. Without the pressure and worry of having to instantly sort out their relationship, Martin had rather looked forward to this evening.

X X X X

Louisa perused the extensive menu. Under the guise of doing so she let her mind wander to how this evening had arranged itself. When she had called on Tuesday to ask him to dinner on Wednesday evening, he had politely declined, claiming a prior engagement. She could not believe it; Martin never had 'plans'. But then it occurred to her that she had no idea what Martin had been doing with his evenings these last eight months. Maybe he had taken up a hobby? Really she had no right to ask.

He had suggested that they eat out, freeing them both from having to cook. When she had hesitated, explaining her concerns about being seen by the villagers, he had recommended a critically acclaimed restaurant he had read about, only an hour's drive down the coast.

They enjoyed a pleasant drive to the restaurant. Louisa no longer felt compelled to fill every silence. She was content to gaze out the window, enjoying the picturesque North Cornwall countryside. Martin tapped his finger on the steering wheel, keeping time with the Mozart aria playing on the car stereo.

As the evening moved along, they critiqued and dissected their meals, genuinely enjoying being together. The usual strained and tense atmosphere between them had dissipated. Absent, at least for tonight, was the usual emotional roller coaster ride of emotions.

Louisa strove to keep the conversation away from their relationship. After all, as she had told Lindsay, they couldn't be doing the 'heavy lifting' every time they met. She wanted Martin to learn that friendship was also about humour, camaraderie and enjoyment in mutual interests. At least hers were. She suspected his were not.

And while she could not exactly extract a laugh from him, she could plainly see that much of the tension and intensity had left his face. When he ventured to try a little dry wit, she found him genuinely funny. And he in turn was rewarded by experiencing the joy of, for once, reducing her to tears of laughter rather than of unhappiness.

Louisa discussed at length her Tarlington Hall pupils. She was convinced that more than several of the girls had developed eating disorders in a quest to remain fashionably thin. She confessed to being shocked at seeing this particular mental health problem in girls as young as eight. It had been a rare problem at Port Wenn Primary.

While anorexia nervosa and bulimia might not seem like ideal dining topics, they suited these two companions very well. Martin supplemented her knowledge regarding what physical symptoms and characteristics to look for and how they impacted on the general health of the developing child. She planned to follow up with suggestions from Lindsay since the school administration seemed to be turning a blind eye.

When his attention was wholly fixated on choosing a suitable dessert for them to share, she stole a glance at his appearance. How handsome he looked in his immaculately tailored light blue shirt, navy pin striped suit and red silk tie. She remembered back to her Valentine's Day dinner with the kind barrister. She had been glad that she had refused his later requests for dates and his offer of a weekend in Paris. She knew now that she could never supplant Martin in her heart.

They were both surprised by how much time had flown by when the waiter brought the bill which Louisa, of course, insisted they split.

X X X X

To be continued …


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"It's the first Saturday in August, Louisa."

"What type of concert is it, Martin?"

"Baroque. Bach, one of his Brandenburg Concertos, Corelli and Vivaldi. It's being held in that old church outside of Padstow, the one where they reconstructed the historical gardens a number of years back. The church has excellent acoustics."

"I haven't been to those gardens in ages. I remember being taken there as a child on a school field trip." She was feeling relaxed and sanguine in his company on this hot, lazy Saturday evening.

"So would you want to go? I could telephone tomorrow to reserve the tickets. The concert is mid-afternoon, we could stroll the gardens afterwards if you'd like. Then maybe an early dinner in Padstow?"

"That sounds lovely. I'd be happy to accompany you. Let me know the price of my ticket so I can reimburse you." She was delighted. Evidently he was thinking far in advance, planning things for them to do, choosing something they both might enjoy. If he was inviting her to an event three weeks hence then clearly he intended to keep on seeing her. This was promising.

"Please, it would be my pleasure to have you as my guest, for both the concert and dinner."

"That's really not necessary, Martin. I'm quite happy to pay my own way."

"But … I would like to. Here we are for a second weekend at your place, I mean the Bosman's home, for dinner." He spread out his arms to indicate the stone patio where they were sitting compatibly in their lawn chairs, finishing dessert.

"Yes but that's because we agreed that we wanted some privacy away from the prying eyes and ears of curious villagers. Besides, you did most of the grocery shopping for tonight's meal, did half the cooking and even taught me how to julienne potatoes on Caroline's mandolin slicer. I'd say you pulled your weight quite nicely." She had been pleased that they had got on so well tonight. So far the only bickering had been over the quantity of salt to add to the stew.

"But I'd like to do something … to … ah … make amends. It's small recompense, I realize."

She sat upright in her chair. "Amends? For what? In the two weeks since I've been home it seems to me that you've done nothing but try to please me."

Martin couldn't hide a smile, glad that she recognized the immense effort he had been making. To hear her express satisfaction with his behaviour rather than dismay was deeply gratifying. But he had something difficult to say and he was uncertain how she would respond.

"Amends for … hurting you, for pushing you away." He gulped, the admission was excruciating. He thought the tips of his ears must be burning red.

To be frank, he had hurt her so many times in the past that she couldn't be sure to which incident he referred. It was evident that he was struggling to apologize for something but couldn't find the words. She considered helping him then thought better of it. Best to let him do so in his own time without her prodding or prompting.

"Right from my first week in Port Wenn … later when the village discovered my blood phobia … and when that unctuous 'Doctor's Friend' threatened to have me removed – ". He stopped abruptly, raised a hand to his forehead, clearly exasperated. There were so many thoughts tumbling around in his brain that he wanted to explain to her but they flooded out in a jumble. "I'm mucking this up. Not making any sense, am I?"

She swiveled slightly in her chair so that she was facing him. "You're doing fine. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

If only that were true; she wasn't going anywhere until mid-August. What had Travers told him? Make a corrective action; be now what you should have been before.

"It's just that … you always defended me, stood up for me even when it wasn't the popular thing to do. Especially against your own village." His voice quivered slightly.

"It wasn't so very brave, Martin. It was the right thing to do." Her voice was reassuring.

"You were so sympathetic, so compassionate, trying hard to befriend me." He looked genuinely pained at the memory of his rude behaviour.

Now it was her turn to blush. She shook her head in disagreement.

"But I was always so unpleasant, so resistant to you," he confessed.

She thought to disagree with him but … well, he was right. He had spurned both her friendship and her sexual advances.

"Anyway, for putting up with me, for tolerating my abysmal behaviour towards you, I apologize." He paused momentarily to collect his swirling thoughts and to take another deep breath. "Thank you for persevering, I am … ah… grateful that you did." He exhaled loudly, slouching into the lawn chair.

"Thank you, Martin. I don't think I can put into words what this means to me. I found so much good in you, lurking beneath that gruff facade. But you are right, at times it was terribly difficult to reach the real you. But if it has led us to this point, to reach this moment of appreciation between us, then it was all worth it."

He didn't say anything more, exhausted by the effort this admission had cost him, worn out with the worry that she might reject his apology. Rarely had he admitted his transgressions so completely to anyone. He stared out into the distance, marking the descent of the setting sun.

Recognizing that he needed time to compose himself, she made the excuse of wanting to clear away the dessert plates. He made a pretense of offering to help, avoiding eye contact as he did. She refused the offer and disappeared into the house.

After quickly rinsing the plates, she stood at the sink gazing out the window, not really taking in the view, comprehending the magnitude of the moment that had just passed between them. Finally, he was replacing fear with a newfound trust both in himself and in their relationship. She was awash in joyous gratitude for his apology. It was the reward for her tenacity, for not giving up on him, for recognizing the extraordinary man that he was inside.

X X X X

"Louisa, are you coming back? You've been gone quite some time." Martin strode into the darkened room. His voice shook her out of her reverie.

"Should I switch on the lights? I thought I might start to load the dishwasher."

"Go ahead, Martin." She made a pretense of wiping the counter. She knew him well enough to realize that the emotional confessions of the past few minutes had come to a close.

"About those concert tickets, would you like to sit near the front or the back of the –"

A loud bang interrupted his question, startling them both. The Bosman's tabby cat entered the kitchen from the outdoors, using his cat door. In a greedy hurry to reach its water bowl to slake its thirst, it brushed against Martin's trouser leg, leaving behind a trail of cat hair.

"Why, you little bugger!" Martin shook his leg but it was unnecessary. The cat had already moved on towards its goal.

Louisa laughed loudly at Martin's perceived indignity. "That's my babysitting charge for the month. His name is Byron Bosman."

"Right. Back to what I was saying before … wait, is that animal limping?"

"Not much escapes you, Martin." Louisa put her hand up to her mouth to suppress a chuckle. She was careful to not give Martin the impression that she was laughing at him. "I don't know why. He's been like that since he came in this morning. I think it's his front paw but he won't let me take a look. I'll have to take him in to the veterinarian on Monday if it persists."

"That's an hour's drive either way. Why don't you let me examine him?"

"You? I didn't think your medical training included ministering to the feline population. If I remember correctly, you were no fan of Mrs. Averil's cat", she teased him.

He looked at her seriously, in full diagnostic mode. "That one had tuberculosis. I think this one's just got something stuck in its paw. Is there a magnifying glass and a narrow set of pliers anywhere in the house?"

"Yes, I think so. Tom's hobby is building miniature boats. He must have some in his workbench."

While she was gone Martin removed his suit jacket. No need to have sharp claws tearing a hole in his finely worsted wool. Just as he was finishing washing his hands, Louisa returned with the requested equipment. It amused her to see how seriously Martin was taking this. Probably the ideal patient for him; one that couldn't talk back

Martin pulled out a kitchen chair and motioned for her to sit down. "Would you pick up the cat and hold it in your arms, please." His voice was commanding; she had heard it many times before when he was taking charge of a medical emergency.

She lifted the large calico tabby onto her lap. When it began to squirm she gently stroked its back and neck. The cat purred happily. Martin crouched down on his haunches directly in front of her, his body lightly leaning against her legs. Louisa couldn't decide whether the whole scene was oddly erotic or slightly comical.

Martin took the cat's right front paw in his big hands and gingerly inspected it, pushing lightly on the tiny, soft pads. Nothing there. He did the same with the left paw. This time Byron hissed and tried to scamper off Louisa's lap.

"Uh huh," said Martin. "There's our problem. Are there any thorn bushes nearby?"

"Yes, Caroline has a rose bush in the back garden."

"Right. This animal has a small thorn caught between the pads of its left paw. Likely from that bush. It's not too deeply embedded. I think I can pull it out with the pliers." He picked up the magnifying glass and his surgical tool.

"Don't you think that's somewhat risky, Martin? This cat can be a bit dodgy. Even after living with me for a week, he still doesn't trust me and he's just met you. Might he not bite you or something?"

"Louisa," answered Martin in his most pompous surgeon's tone, "I was considered one of the finest vascular surgeons in London. Surely I can perform a minor medical procedure on a small domestic pet. Now please try to keep the patient still on your lap."

Louisa rolled her eyes and decided to say nothing. She stroked the cat again, making soothing noises to it. She suppressed a giggle at the ludicrous situation. What would the villagers make of this scene?

Once again Martin held the cat's paw in one hand, the magnifying glass in the other. Yes, he could just see the protruding thorn. He put down the magnifying glass and picked up the pliers. Slowly he pulled out the thorn and as he was about to give Louisa a smug look of satisfaction, two things happened.

Byron caterwauled loudly then hissed and spit in Martin's face. As the eminent surgeon raised a hand to his forehead to remove the spit, Byron Bosman scratched the very hand that had healed him. Byron leapt off of Louisa's lap and skittered through the cat door to freedom. Martin lost his balance, falling backwards flat onto the cold ceramic floor behind him.

"Martin!" screamed Louisa. "Are you alright?" She was off her chair in a split second and onto her knees beside him.

As he rested on his elbows, Martin shouted, "Bugger that ungrateful little beast!"

Then he became aware of her leaning over him, the smell of her shampoo and the sensation of her soft hand wiping away the remnants of the cat's wrath. He reached up with his right hand and gently stroked her cheek. Nothing seemed more natural right at this moment than for her to lean in to kiss him. As she bent in close to do so, he suddenly gagged. Horrified, she pulled away. What? Was she so repulsive to him? Then she realized that he was staring not at her but at the back of his hand. Blood oozed from two long, jagged scratches, a parting gift from the now liberated Byron.

X X X X

To be continued …


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

Louisa rocked back onto her heels. Martin was as white as a sheet. A thin stream of blood trickled down his right hand onto his diamond white shirt cuff. He sat up straight, grabbing his chest. She thought he was about to vomit and moved out of his way. It didn't phase her; she had witnessed his phobic response numerous times. Instead, he put his left hand onto his diaphragm, shut his eyes and began inhaling and exhaling slowly in measured breaths. Louisa didn't know what to make of it. She sat on the floor warily watching him.

After a minute the colour returned to Martin's face. His voice was hoarse but audible. "Would you go out to my car and get my black bag, please? The car keys are in my suit jacket." He tried to get up but fell back.

"Sure. Before I do, you sit there and rest while I get you a glass of water." Louisa patted his shoulder. She returned with the water and several wet and soapy paper towels. As Martin drank the water, she gestured to his bloody hand. "Let me clean that for you."

No need. I can do it myself. I'm perfectly capable." He took two more deep breaths.

"I'm sure you are. But why not keep on doing that deep breathing thing instead? It seems to be helping."

He saw the logic in this idea and extended his bleeding hand towards her. She knelt beside him again. Tenderly she wiped away the blood with a soapy paper towel and then staunched the flow by applying pressure with another. The bleeding began to abate.

"Here." She motioned to him with her eyes. "You take over now."

He continued pressing the bloodied towel against the wound. Now that her hands were free, she was able to undo his cuff link and turn back the white sleeve so that the bloodstain was less apparent. Consequently a little of the tension subsided from Martin's face. She used the remaining clean paper towel to wipe away the blood that had dripped onto his wrist.

"There," she said gently, "almost done. I'll go get your medical bag now." She stood up to go, put the cuff link into Martin's suit pocket and threw the blood soaked paper towels into the bin. As an afterthought, she turned back, bent over him and brushed her hand lightly over the top of his head. "Back in a tick."

When she returned from his car, he was standing at the sink holding his right hand under the cold running water. He was still slightly pale but no longer perspiring.

"Better now?" she inquired quietly.

"Yes, just cleaning the wound." His voice was brusque, telegraphing that he wanted no pity for what had just transpired. He instructed her where to find the antibiotic cream and sterile dressing in the compartments of his bag. They sat together at the kitchen table as she laid out the materials as instructed.

"I'll take it from here, Louisa." He was all business again.

"Nonsense. You are right handed, you'll make a sloppy job of it using your left hand, great surgeon that you are," she teased him. "I'll do the cleansing and bandaging. Done it many times over the years at Port Wenn Primary. Couldn't call in the local GP every time there was a scrape or bruise, could we?" She winked at him.

"Um … okay." He realized that she was trying to put him at ease, gently coaxing him back to good humour and into forgetting about the blood stained sleeve and his humiliation. In a minute she had finished, having covered the back of his hand with a large gauge bandage. Next she would use tape around his hand to bind the gauze securely in place.

"You're very good at this," he said. He felt comforted having her take care of him, reassuring him, touching him. She, unlike so many others, saw no embarrassment in his phobia. As she pressed down the sticky tape around the sterile gauze at the back of his hand and around to his palm, he touched her hand and looked unflinchingly into her eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

For a moment neither of them moved. Her left hand was pressed into the palm of his right hand, the large fingers of his left hand touching the back of her right hand. This was one of the many things that attracted Martin to her; the comfort she brought him and the calm she emanated. Louisa sensed his entire body relaxing. This was one of the many things she could give Martin and it filled her with a tremendous sense of well-being.

But something was nagging at the back of her mind, distracting her from this welcome moment and she needed to pursue it.

"Your blood thing seems considerably better. How come?"

"I've been working on it for several months. CDs and such, every week." He was proud of himself and knew she would be too.

"Seems like you've had considerable success."

"Yes, the CDs have been fairly useful but I needed some extra help."

"Oh?" She was slightly confused.

"I mean help getting cured. Not quite there yet. Still a ways to go but it is definitely coming along." He was happy to share the news; no one else knew.

"Who is helping you? Joan? The way she butchers those chickens, she certainly is not shy of blood."

"No, a psychologist actually." It just slipped out. But he knew she would approve of him finally getting some help.

"Really? Wow. Good for you, Martin. Really well done. It must make dealing with your patients much easier?"

"Yes it does. And it opens a whole new frontier of possibilities for me. I can become more than just a village doctor again. Maybe even a return to surgery." That slipped out too. He hadn't meant to say that, not in that callous way, not tonight and certainly not while they sat here, alone, with hands intertwined.

Then Louisa knew exactly what was bothering her. She remembered Martin having said something last week about his skills being portable beyond the borders of Port Wenn. So this was what he had been referring to. He was finally curing his haemophobia in preparation for departing the village and resuming, no doubt, his celebrated surgical career. She could scarcely believe it. Martin leaving Port Wenn.

He saw the stunned expression in her eyes and knew that she had worked it out. Damn! How clumsily he had handled it. His own eyes filled with panic. This was not the way he had planned to tell her. She would think that his spending time with her was merely a pleasant interlude before he made his exit into a new life which excluded her.

She simply could not comprehend his duplicity, his betrayal. The Martin she knew had integrity. Hadn't he given her every indication that he wanted to work things out? What had he been playing at these last two weeks? Was he planning on bedding her and then leaving? All those lonely months in London when she had so terribly ached for him, he had been working towards a new life that did not include her.

Martin watched in desperate silence as her expression shifted from incomprehension, to hurt and then to anger.

"Louisa," he pleaded, "let me explain … "

"No need, Martin." Her voice was steely. "You know what? There's already been enough excitement for one evening. Why don't we call it a night? It's getting late and I'm quite tired. How about we talk early in the week?"

"But I want to tell you … "

"I think it's for the best. Really, Martin, I mean it."

"Are you certain? I should ex-"

"Enough, I said!" She shouted at him. "Please go!"

He hesitated but he saw the resolve in her face. She would not be swayed. Reluctantly he picked up his medical bag, draped the suit jacket over his arm and made for the door.

"Thank you for dinner and … ah …for bandaging my hand."

"Sure. Good night."

Martin went out into the night, worried and deflated after an evening that had started out with such promise. As the door shut loudly behind him, he thought he heard her sobbing.

X X X X

Lindsay held up another dress. "And this one I could just squeeze into if I lose another three pounds before I leave on Wednesday."

"Will you stop doing this to yourself? You look fine just the way you are. Just go and enjoy being with your family."

"You're kidding right? Two weeks in a quaint Cambrian Cottage with the Goldman family? My brother's a pompous ass barrister, my sister won't stop needling me to lose twenty pounds and my parents cannot fathom why three years after my divorce I am not remarried and pregnant."

Louisa threw back her head and laughed loudly. "No one said that families are easy. Besides you can always jump into a canoe by yourself and paddle around the lake or go for a boat ride on Lake Derwentwater. Lots of beautiful scenery and serenity to be had in the Lake District."

Lindsay nodded then turned her attention on her friend. Louisa looked tired. Why had she called early on a Sunday morning so keen to get together? "So now that I've finished my fashion show and you've said all those kind lies one would expect from a supportive friend, tell me exactly why you appeared at my door this morning with a bag of low calorie muffins from the bakery?"

"I had Martin over for dinner again last night."

Lindsay continued to fold up the new clothes strewn on her bed. She was so pleased for her friend. Maybe there was good news? "Mmm … You two seem to be making a habit of dining together. Spending a lot of time in each other's company, aren't you? And you look tired this morning, had a particularly good night, did you?"

"Not exactly. Last night Martin let slip something that I don't think he intended to tell me, at least not for awhile."

Lindsay kept folding. "Oh?"

"Something shocking, for me anyway. He's planning on leaving Port Wenn. His blood phobia's almost cured. He's going to resume his surgical career, I think."

Lindsay dropped the pair of pants she was folding. "Seriously? Are you certain?" She sat down amidst the clothes. "Gosh."

"Yes, I know. Here was me naively thinking he couldn't live without me, yearning for me, inconsolable."

"He was, you know."

"Was what?"

"Yearning for you. He was absolutely miserable. Lost. And it took considerable courage for him to swallow his pride and send you those two cards."

Louisa frowned, brushing back a strand of hair from her eyes. "Then why's he so eager to get away?"

"Because from mid-November until mid-May he had no idea if he would ever see you again. Aside from Joan, he has no friends or family here. Except for Mrs. Tishell and a few other malcontents, practically everyone in this village wanted to kill him for driving you away. He has a humiliating phobia that drove him out of the career he wanted. I can see why he'd want to get the hell away from here as fast as he could."

"I know. It can't have been easy for him. So many people have stopped to tell me how sorry they are that I left Port Wenn and they hope I will be returning soon. Most of them were eager to say what a tosser they think Martin is." She toyed with the bits of muffin on her plate.

"So where is he going?"

"We didn't get that far in the conversation. He said he's not completely cured yet. Back to his high flying career in London, I expect."

"You know, Louisa, he was supposed to be a pretty amazing surgeon. When I lived in London I had a friend who was a social worker at St. Thomas'. She said that Martin was a terror of a human being but he did have golden hands; saved a lot of lives."

"I've heard. He deserves to be reinstated to his former glory. Not much else has gone right for him in life it seems."

Lindsay eyed her carefully. "You're taking this very well. I'd have expected you to be tearing out your hair and crying into your coffee. This must have been very disappointing news for you."

Louisa smiled sadly. Distractedly she began folding some of Lindsay's discarded clothes. "I did all that last night. I was absolutely gutted. Today I'm more philosophical. It was me who told Martin that we needed to become friends, remember? What kind of friend would I be if I didn't root for him and support him? If what he really wants is to follow that particular career path then who am I to stop him? God knows he deserves to be free of that terrible phobia. The village never stopped taunting him, even after he'd saved another life."

"That's very generous of you, Louisa."

"Not really. Wasn't I off in London doing much the same thing? Shoring up my career, building a future for myself, alone and independent. I always got the impression that Martin loved surgery. I can't imagine what it would be like for me never to be able to teach children again."

"So what happens now to you and Martin?"

"I don't know. Maybe Martin and I aren't meant to be together. In three years we haven't managed to make a go of it." Louisa shrugged her shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry. "Regardless, in four weeks time I will go back to London."

She stared out the window. "If we both end up in London, maybe we can build on what we started here. But who knows if that's where he's heading? There are lots of prestigious hospitals in England who would love to have a surgeon of Martin's caliber. Besides, I'm not certain that I want to live in London anymore. The more time I spend here the more convinced I am about moving back, if and when an opportunity arises. Stu Mackenzie called last week. He wants to have a talk with me."

Lindsay took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. This was unforeseen and so unfair. For four months she had goaded, cajoled and encouraged her friend to come back to Port Wenn to attempt reconciliation with Martin. Now it appeared that all of Louisa's hard work, heart ache and resolve had been for naught. Was Martin running away – again? Was Louisa about to be left devastated and heartbroken – again?

Lindsay was deeply worried.

Not The End

Author's Note:

Fellow readers and writers: that this story should end so abruptly and just before the launch of the new series is purely coincidental. I have to be away for a while on family matters and so won't have time to write. It did not seem fair to readers nor to the characters to rush off a quick and implausible ending. However this story will continue to write itself in my imagination and I would be pleased to share Part Two (the conclusion) with you, on my return, if you would like. Please let me know.

I happened on Fan Fiction last Winter, reading all the wonderfully written and imaginative stories devotedly for six months before I got up the courage to pen this idea that had long been percolating. Thank you to all the readers and to those of you who took the time to post reviews. It makes all the difference and spurs me on to try my best.


	22. Chapter 22

Resolutions: Part Two

Chapter Twenty Two

Louisa was dreaming. She and Martin were in his Lexus chatting companionably, sharing a private joke as they drove through an exquisite countryside that was new to them both. The hills were high and lush, the lake cobalt blue, the sun streaming brightly. They passed happy families picnicking and hikers rambling. It was idyllic.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, the scenery began to change. Everything became scrubbier: the grass dried and yellowed, the hills flattened, the tourists disappeared. Soon all around the car was parched sand, nothing else in sight save the occasional dune. The land was barren, desiccated, and desolate. The road became narrow, almost impassable. The car lost traction, wheels spinning in the sound, intractable.

Louisa volunteered to get out to push, in spite of her high heeled shoes. Martin endorsed the idea. Without much exertion on her part, she nudged the Lexus forward out of its rut. Pleased with her efforts, she pushed on the passenger door handle to get back in the car but either the door was stuck or locked. Puzzled, she knocked on the window. Martin rolled it down part way.

"Please open up the door, Martin. I can't get back in."

Martin shook his head, making no move to unlock her door. His face muscles tightened, his gaze fixed resolutely forward into the distance. "This is where I leave you, Louisa. I'm taking a different road now, alone. To somewhere you can't follow."

He revved the motor. She banged frantically with both fists on the door. "No, no! Please, Martin! Don't do this to me," she screamed. Her knuckles began to bruise. "Martin, wherever you are going, please take me with you! Don't dessert me again," she begged.

But her protestations and pleas were in vain. Martin shifted the transmission into Drive and sped away. Louisa stood alone in the bleak landscape of the desert, crying, "Martin, come back to me!"

X X X X X

Martin resisted the urge to touch her; he longed to kneel down by Louisa's side to stroke her silky hair. But he was a man who abhorred the spontaneous act; much of his energy in life had been expended in denying his impulses, in tamping down those urges that managed to bubble up to the surface from the suffocating jail of his subconscious. He operated in life by habit and pattern, by adhering to fact, not faith. And so once again when the wiser course of action might have been to follow his instincts and impulses, he instead retreated deep inside himself, falling back on the familiar and comfortable course of action, rationalizing why it was best to do so.

So Martin stood over Louisa, looking awkward and embarrassed as he clutched to his chest the large paper bag full of vegetables from Joan's garden. He had come earlier in the day to see Louisa but there had been no answer at her door and the car that Caroline had loaned her was absent from the driveway. He sensed that after last night's fiasco, this was a conversation best not had on the telephone so he had returned late on this steamy mid-July afternoon shortly after his weekly Sunday lunch with Joan.

It had not been a pleasant lunch for his aunt. Martin had been out of temper, distracted and restless. Joan had rightly assessed that his foul mood was attributed to something concerning Louisa; she knew that they had been spending a fair amount of time together lately. Martin was typically loathe to discuss what was bothering him.

Joan guessed that something momentous must have happened last night. So, in an effort to get her nephew to confront the problem as expediently as possible, she had filled a bag full of her homegrown veg and insisted that Martin drop it off at the Bosman household this afternoon while it was still fresh from the ground. Martin welcomed the excuse, surprisingly requiring no prodding.

Now here he stood, clutching the bag, perspiring though his white dress shirt and striped navy tie, transfixed by Louisa's dozing body. She had fallen asleep on a large lounge chair in the Bosman's back garden, ipod buds stuck in her ears. This explained why she had not heard his arrival nor when he had called out to her as he entered the backyard. How many times had he warned patients about the dangers of playing music too loudly, about the possibility of damaging their hearing? Martin's thoughts raced on quickly from dispensing medical admonishments to appreciating the attractive female specimen lying fully outstretched in front of him.

He had long believed that sexual relationships were largely unnecessary except for the purposes of procreation and the occasional release of physical tension. He had always felt himself smugly superior to the rest of human civilization in this regard. He had reasoned himself as unneeding of sexual pleasure, play or intimacy, apart from several sporadically brief dalliances and the inaugural biomechanical tutelage of Edith Montgomery.

Consequently, it had seriously troubled him that his monkish adherence to this credo had dissolved on the day that he had been first introduced to Louisa Glasson. That he had been unable to repress the acute physical craving he had experienced, that he could not shut off this yearning as he could some mechanical valve, greatly disconcerted him. Until their engagement he had held firm against these feelings. It was not so much a case of sexual repression as prudish suppression.

What she awoke in him he had never before conceived as possible: beyond lust or mere sexual tension, this was a form of sensual intimacy that he had never before allowed himself to share with another human being nor indeed, had ever desired. When he had finally allowed her, what she could do to his body and what he wanted to do to hers, was initially unsettling. When he had permitted himself to surrender control to the ecstasies that she offered during the heady days of their engagement, it had truly been a rapturous revelation.

Those feelings resurfaced now as he surveyed her long, slender legs encased in a brief pair of blue shorts slung low over her thin hips. While he lectured his female patients on the dangers of painting their finger and toe nails because it masked a multitude of health problems, not the least of which was cyanosis, he could not help now but appreciate how the deep pink polish accentuated Louisa's graceful digits. His eyes trailed upwards to the gentle but powerful curvature of her shoulders and the definition in her tricep and bicep muscles; evidence of the daily swims she took at her school pool in London.

He followed the path made by a trickle of perspiration as it proceeded down her chest, disappearing into her taut cleavage, just barely visible above the lines of the white tank top she wore. When he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, he attributed his actions to the brazen heat and humidity of the summer afternoon.

Embarrassed by his voyeur-like behaviour, he thought to waken her but treated himself first to another stolen glance at the dark brown hair falling down her shoulders, the pronounced curve of her cheekbones and the enticing fullness of her lips. Attune now to the tranquility of her present movements, he was surprised to notice a change in the pattern of her breathing, becoming shallow and restless. Her fingers twitched and she murmured something. Could it be his name?

Martin stepped back from the lounge chair so as to be out of her immediate line of sight. Louisa stirred in her sleep, woke abruptly and looked around. Her first words upon seeing him were wholly unexpected and welcoming.

"Martin, you've come back!"

He wasn't certain what to make of this. Had she expected him to reappear to soon after last night's disaster? Surely not, considering he had never summoned the courage to do so following any previous argument or disagreement in their volatile history. He did not know how to answer her and chose to remain taciturn.

Her mind cleared from the fog of nightmare; she realized that in fact it was the real Martin Ellingham standing in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise. Stunned by his presence she cried out, "Martin, whatever are you doing here?"

His confusion deepened. Did she have heatstroke? Perhaps he should fetch her a glass of water?

She comprehended his puzzlement. "Sorry. I was having a dream and you were in it."

He nodded in understanding.

She brushed the hair back from her face and pulled herself up from the deep cushions. She noted how closely his eyes followed her movements. She was practiced enough in his behaviours to recognize the lust therein. She hadn't imagined it last night then.

"But what brought you here?" she repeated.

"Joan sent you some vegetables from the farm. He nodded with his head towards the bag in his arms. It was a plausible excuse.

"How nice. I bumped into her in the village the other day. We're going to have tea later this week." Louisa wasn't sure whether the veg were a peace offering or an excuse for him to see her. Probably both she surmised and was pleased.

Martin nodded. He seemed inordinately preoccupied by his shoes. Louisa wiped a bead of perspiration from her cheek. Noting his disheveled tie and stained shirt, she said,"You look hot. How about coming inside for a glass of lemonade?"

"That would be good."

He followed behind her as they walked from the back garden into the kitchen. He remembered a remark Mark Mylow had once made about admiring the way Louisa moved. Martin was in full agreement then and now. His eyes followed the length of her stride, the slight sway of her hips and the swishing noise made by her bare feet on the thick grass.

X X X X X

To be continued ….


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

Once inside, she poured them each a cool glass of lemonade. They stood practically at opposite ends of the kitchen, engulfed by a mutually foreboding silence. Louisa put down her glass behind her and leaned back to so that her bare elbows rested on the counter. Martin was watching her intently, one hand clasped tightly around his glass, the other behind his back. He said nothing but she knew him well enough to recognize that inside of his head the wheels were furiously turning in some unfathomable internal debate concerning what he should do next.

Still he made no move towards her. How she wished he would. It wasn't sex she desired from him just now but a touch of his palm upon her hot cheek or the feel of his large fingers gently grasping hers; anything that conveyed attention or reassurance that all would resolve itself happily.

Still he did not move and she remained resolute that she would not go to him. Martin had to learn to initiate, to go after what he wanted, not to wait until it finally came to him out of exasperation. But it was not lost on Louisa that Martin had reappeared so quickly after she had so vehemently dismissed him last night. It had taken real courage for him to return; she respected him for that. In that regard, she ought to throw him a lifeline.

"Martin … er…I'm … sorry about last night. I reacted rashly. You were trying to explain something to me and I cut you off. Jumping to conclusions seems to be rather a pattern with us, doesn't it?" She flashed him a brief, apologetic smile.

"I should have told you earlier but – " He was in earnest to rectify his mistake.

"But you didn't want to rock our precarious little boat?"

"If that metaphor suits … yes." He fiddled with his glass of lemonade.

She decided to take things slowly, keep her temper in check. No point in frightening him off by leading with recriminations and lambasting. Better to collect the facts before judging, isn't that what the books on relationship conflict had recommended?

"So your blood phobia will soon disappear completely?"

"Well, diminish anyway. It may take some time to fully eradicate but yes, the treatment is coming along most satisfactorily."

"Hence the psychologist?"

"Yes, he's an arrogant old sod but quite good at plying his trade."

"Is that what you do with your Wednesday evenings?"

"What?"

"I asked you out to dinner last Wednesday evening but you told me that you already had plans."

"Yes. I close the surgery early that day so as to drive to Truro for my weekly evening appointment. Often afterwards I pick up a sandwich in town before starting back."

Good, she thought. He wasn't seeing another woman.

"You mentioned last night that you've been working on this cure for several months. How long have you been seeing him?"

"The psychologist? Since the beginning of April. I had been attempting a cure myself since February but to no avail." He wasn't going to mention the depression or the attendant therapeutic sessions to resolve it. That would be admitting human frailty.

So, well before she had told him she was coming home to Port Wenn for the summer. If she had not returned home now but waited until the Christmas holidays as she had originally intended, would he still have been here? Would he even have bothered to send her a forwarding address? Calm down, Louisa, you're getting ahead of yourself again, jumping to unwarranted conclusions.

"You mentioned last night that a cure might open up a new line of opportunities for you, maybe even surgery?"

"At this stage surgery is more of a probability than a certainty. I would have to be much further along than this to go back to surgery but the psychologist is quite pleased with the rapidity of my progress. He thinks that by late Autumn I could enroll in the required surgical re-entry courses and if I pass them and receive my re-certification, he would be prepared to send along his own letter of recommendation to the appropriate authorities."

"And who would 'they' be?" Louisa recognized that her voice had reverted to her disciplinarian's tone, the one usually reserved for interrogating naughty schoolchildren suspected of breaking the schoolyard rules.

"The authorities? The licensing body, the College of Physicians and Surgeons, that sort of thing plus whatever hospital to which I applied for work."

"So it's to be surgery again, is it?" It came out staccato and brusque, in spite of her efforts.

His tone was courteous, polite; he could hear the edge in her voice and he was anxious not to start a new row. He didn't want to squander this tentative reprieve. "What do you mean?"

"You had said before that there more skills to being a physician than you were currently using in Port Wenn. I assumed that you were referring to surgery?" She was closing in on extracting the most crucial piece of information from him. He couldn't be a surgeon in Port Wenn, for Heaven's Sake. Why not just spill his plans without all this prelude and obfuscation?

"Yes. Surgery would be a large part of it but there is so much more: teaching the medical students, conferencing with colleagues, writing papers …" His eyes brightened, his voice quickened. "And the hospital is very well funded for vascular surgical research. One of the drug companies is planning to fund a major cardiovascular project involving a new type of stent device. That's why they're interested in me and I would – "

"Hang on. Back up a bit. Exactly which hospital is interested in you?"

He missed the familiar warning signs: her clipped tone, the arms now folded tightly across her chest, the persistent squint of her eyelids. In his excitement about the job prospect he barreled on, perilously oblivious, happy to share his news with her.

"The Royal Liverpool. When Chris Parsons put out the word that I was interested in returning to surgery, the Royal Liverpool contacted him. It's quite an impressive hospital, that is for the mid and northern regions …"

Louisa had stopped listening to his description of the marvels of the Royal Liverpool Hospital. This was worse than she had anticipated. She had taken it for granted that if he was going anywhere it was to London. She had time last night to consider this option and had leaped to the conclusion that it was the only choice he would accept. She had gone so far in her conjectures as to work out how they could navigate a relationship together in London.

She had imagined them living together in a large flat, preferably within walking distance of Tarlington Hall or his hospital. In the not too distant future they would marry and hopefully produce a child. If they found a satisfactory nanny then Louisa could return to school after only an abbreviated maternity leave. At her end of term performance evaluation in June the Head Mistress had hinted that the assistant Headship position might became vacant in the next couple of years and that Louisa should consider preparing herself to apply.

But this late night musing had been fraught with difficulties and dissatisfactions. And much that displeased her about living in London was magnified threefold if it meant moving even further away from Port Wenn, decidedly never to return. She bit her lip in anxious contemplation until she pulled herself back to reality and the recognition that Martin was still nattering on, suffused with excitement for the Royal Liverpool. She was in for another rude shock.

"And when I met with the Chief of Vascular, he was quite certain that my surgical expertise would enhance – "

"What? You've already talked with the hospital?" It was jarring. This was no pipedream. Plans were evidently well cooked.

Martin was annoyed. "Haven't you been listening? I've already told you about that! To reiterate, since your attention skills appear diminished today, two phone calls and then while I was in Liverpool in mid-June."

"Hold it. You were already in Liverpool?" she exclaimed incredulously.

"Louisa," he said hotly, "if you're bored by hearing about this prospective offer of employment then I might as well stop chattering and leave. I would have thought you'd be pleased for me."

He was deflated and hurt. Here was something exciting that he had shared with no one. Louis had been encouraging him to become her friend, to confide in her and now here she was, not even bothering to listen when the topic apparently failed to interest her. That is where Martin made his fatal mistake; thinking she wasn't interested.

She was more than interested; she was concerned and furious. All of her magnanimous, noble intentions in supporting him suddenly flew out the window. Here he was, planning a happy life without her and having the gall to tell her all about it with an attitude of almost unmitigated glee, rubbing it in her face. Was she supposed to just stand on the sidelines, cheering him on whilst she waved him goodbye? She was absolutely not going to stand for it.

X X X X X

To be continued ….


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

Abandonment. It leaves a permanent, searing scar on your psyche, raising that old alarm bell of warning, making it challenging ever to trust again. Most everyone feels they have been abandoned, at some point in their lives, by somebody, whether because of a failed love affair, divorce, death or some other painful circumstance.

It is especially difficult to overcome when it first happens early in life, particularly when it is your mother who desserts you. Not that her father had been much better. He had never physically left but his false promises, unreliable nature and the instability of their home life had left much the same imprint on Louisa. She had learned, out of necessity, to become fiercely independent and completely self-reliant. She intended always to be thus.

That was another problem with abandonment. That alarm bell ringing so loudly in your head makes it difficult to hear what the other person is truly saying or signaling to you. Was Martin really planning to abandon her? Then why had he turned up today so apologetic and eager to convey his plans? Lindsay had cautioned her not only to listen closely to Martin's words but to also observe his actions before she made assumptions.

"Martin, what the devil are you playing at? Telling me all this as if it didn't matter to me?"

"Sorry? I have absolutely no idea what you mean. Of course it should matter to you! Perhaps it's the heat but you're not making sense."

"Don't make up symptoms that aren't there! And don't avoid the question!" She was cross. The familiar patterns of conflict were re-emerging between them. The old battle lines were being redrawn. "I don't have heat stroke but I do have enough sense to know that while we have been spending so much time together this month, you've been busily planning a career move to Liverpool."

"It is hardly a career move when I haven't been offered the job yet. These plans were put into motion long before you arrived back in Port Wenn. And I am telling you now! Isn't that what you wanted? So stop pouncing on every word out of my mouth!" he shouted in exasperation. His pleasure at sharing his news had been made fleeting by her petulance.

"Don't shout at me! I'm the one who came home to try to work things out between us, remember?" Her aggravation could no longer be suppressed.

"If that's the case then it might have been nice if you had let me know of your intentions well in advance instead of just showing up on my doorstep one July evening seeking medical advice!" Back was the imperious, hostile Martin.

"Considering you made no effort in the month following our wedding fiasco to contact me while I still lived here, let alone during the six months afterwards while I was in London crying my heart out, I didn't think I owed you any sort of explanation! No, wait. I should think myself lucky for the two cards you sent which barely contained anything more intimate or informative beyond your scrawl of a signature!"

As soon as that last morsel of sarcasm was out of her mouth, she regretted it. She had gone too far and knew it. Damn! What was it about Martin Ellingham that made her lose all sense of proportion and equilibrium? Why did she feel the need to challenge him when, at this moment, she could have chosen to trust him? She put her hand to her creased forehead in frustration.

He was cut by her comment about the cards. She could read it clearly on his face. Hadn't Lindsay said that it had taken great courage for Martin to initiate contact with her, especially the second time when she hadn't shown the courtesy to reciprocate after the first card?

"Um … perhaps I'd better go. Enjoy the vegetables." He was predictably shutting down. He placed the half finished glass of lemonade on the kitchen counter and walked to the door.

If he ran off this time, they would be right back to where they had started. Both stuck in their corners like two boxers, breathless, gearing up for the next round in their bout. She could envision the usual pattern playing itself out as always: lashing out at each other, hurling blame and reproach, each assuming incorrectly that the other no longer cared. She needed to reassure him that for her part, this absolutely was not the case.

Rushing over to his side, she tugged at the elbow of his shirtsleeve. "No, Martin. Please. Wait. I'm terribly sorry. I did appreciate those two cards that you sent. Honestly. They meant a great deal to me."

He took his hand off the door knob and reluctantly turned around..

She lowered her gaze and her guard. "I keep them on my night table in London, beside my bed," she confessed.

X X X X X X

He stood silently by her side, waiting for a cue, verbal or otherwise, as to what action to take next. Instinctively he wanted to retreat. All of this talking was wearing. But the alternative, fleeing, isn't that what he had always done with her, with everybody? He and Louisa would never resolve anything that way and he sensed the significance of this interaction, of communicating it properly, of getting it right.

She selected her next actions very carefully, thinking back to a particular suggestion from the book on marital conflict. "How about we take a break for a few minutes? Cool off. Do something different. You know … take a time out then resume our conversation?"

He had no idea what she was talking about. His mind drew a blank. Maybe he should just go.

Her mind searched desperately for a diversion. Then her face brightened. "I know. How about helping me change a light bulb on the staircase? I can't manage it myself and the stepladder is a bit rickety. I don't have your imposing height," she teased, diffusing the tension.

He still did not understand why they were avoiding the subject of his medical career but if changing a light bulb would keep the peace and help out Louisa then he was happy to comply. For the next ten minutes they busied themselves with doing exactly that.

Afterwards she beckoned him into the lounge and onto the sofa beside her. He watched her wrap her bare legs behind her as she curled up on a cushion. He sat down on the far end of the sofa, hands nervously upon his knees, facing forwards, avoiding the intensity of her scrutiny.

"So this job in Liverpool, it sounds good." She endeavoured to make her voice sound as encouraging as possible although she doubted she would be happy with what he would tell her.

Martin relaxed slightly. "Yes, it is. It would mean a cross-appointment to the university which is also involved in the research project. I would have a full time staff appointment to the Vascular Department. Not only would I be the senior man performing the new surgical techniques with the experimental stent prototypes but I would also be involved in assessing and writing about the success and failures of the procedures."

"So performing surgery again, teaching students, being amongst your peers, conducting research and pioneering new vascular procedures. Sounds ideal."

He shook his head, the abject truth weighing heavily upon him. Should he tell her? "Not ideal, no. The Department is well funded but small, the project time is limited and dependent on the generousity of the drug company's continued funding and … well … it is only a regional hospital. I wouldn't be the department head either."

"So why settle for something not completely satisfactory? Why not work in London instead?" It peaked her curiousity as to why he was settling for something he considered second or third rate. Surely there was more to tell?

He did not want to acknowledge the humiliating truth, not even to Louisa. However he knew she would spot the easy lie, the convenient dodge. But it cut deeper into his unease about his abilities to admit out loud what Chris had been so diplomatically forced to impart to him.

He inhaled a deep breath first. "Nobody wanted me." It rolled out drenched in self-pity; he hadn't intended it that way. Quite the opposite. He had wanted it to sound matter of fact, not as if his pride had been wounded.

"You're kidding? That's outrageous! You were an eminent London surgeon. I remember the stack of glowing references and accolades attached to your curriculum vitae when you applied for our GP position. You were the youngest head of department ever at St. Thomas."

"Yes, Louisa," he said sadly "but that was almost five years ago. Chris said that there was definite interest from both and Imperial but no one is going to take me back without first feeling completely confidant that my minor anxiety disorder has been fully resolved. Apparently there are malpractice concerns. That is fully justified. You can't have a senior surgeon vomiting over an open wound in an operating room, can you? There are legitimate liability issues. Both London hospitals want me to test the waters first before either is willing to appoint me."

Louisa reached across the sofa, stretching her hand out to cover one of his. He was too miserable to recoil from her touch. It felt consoling and warm as her fingers lay draped over his. He lifted his thumb slightly so that it lightly rested on top of her wrist. A miniscule gesture perhaps but Louisa understood the magnitude of its implication.

"Oh, Martin. I'm just so sorry." No trace of pity, just heartfelt compassion.

Suddenly springing to mind were the questions Dr. Travers had asked him at his first appointment. Who do you confide in? Who comforts you? He realized that he had finally found the answer.

X X X X X X

To be continued …


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five

Martin ventured on, keen to experience the relief; grateful to be sharing his private humiliation with someone who understood him. "There is more. The message to Chris was that if I passed the re-entry procedures with flying colours and if I spent a year or two out in the proverbial wilderness proving that I was completely cured, then the top London hospitals would take a serious look at me when a department head position becomes available."

"But that seems so unfair!"

"Not really. Surgical positions, particularly the top positions in the best hospitals, are notoriously competitive and political. A hospital search committee would have to feel completely secure in my competence before rushing to support me, especially if it meant pushing a prominent Chief into early retirement."

Louisa saw the logic in this and despite her moral outrage on his behalf, she could not refute the argument. A former surgeon, non-practicing for five years, hidden away in an isolated village with little intellectual or academic stimulation, and nursing a blood phobia. Not exactly someone who inspires confidence. She would not insult Martin's faith in her nor stuff him with false hopes and insipid platitudes. She sympathized with his unconcealed despair and resignation.

"So when would you move to Liverpool then?"

"Nothing is settled, as I told you. We are still in the discussion phase. The selection committee is still talking to other candidates but they are interested. I will be invited back shortly for another interview, possibly next week. That is if they decide to take a chance on me."

Louisa's eyes opened wide in indignation. She might not like the thought of Martin leaving Port Wenn but regardless, any hospital in the country should be thrilled to have someone of his caliber!

"Then I need to complete my course of treatment here. Dr. Travers thinks I should be ready in another three months. A stipulation of the terms of my employment would be my compliance in meeting regularly with a psychologist to monitor the resolution of my haemophobia. I would move to Liverpool this Autumn and begin the re-entry courses. The hospital would gradually ease me into full time surgical practice sometime this Winter."

The sum total of this news, she conjectured, could create an impasse in her relationship with Martin Ellingham. He wanted to leave; she wanted to return.

Absentmindedly, she disengaged her hand from his gentle grip to place her middle finger to her mouth and began chewing on a nail. Martin misinterpreted her behaviour, wrongly thinking not that she was anxious about their joint future but that she was still angry with him for misleading her.

Despite the heat, he rebuttoned the top of his shirt and straightened his wrinkled tie. "Louisa, I should have told you earlier but nothing is finalized and these plans were put into motion months ago. It's just that I need a change, need to do something more with my life than sit alone in this dreary little village jabbing wailing children and prescribing antibiotics to belligerent patients. This is an opportunity to return to something I was good at, be amongst my peers again and to –"

Louisa threw both palms up into the air, halting the stream of his confession. "Please don't apologize, Martin. You don't have to justify yourself to me. Neither of us did a very good job of communicating our intentions these past eight months, did we? I have no right to be angry with you for wanting to get on with your life and for having the courage to make the necessary changes to enable you to do so. Quite the contrary. I applaud you for that."

He had shown the courage to take her into his confidence, to trust her with his victories but also with his perceived failures and humiliations. Martin Ellingham was many things, not the least of which was proud, arrogant and smug. Oh, what it must have cost his ego to have shared all this with her!

She wanted to reward and reassure him for placing this trust in her, to reinforce positively that she remained for him a person of safety and support. Putting aside the very real worries brewing up inside of her about what the future held, she wanted to demonstrate to him that she was worthy of his trust.

"Martin, I just want you to know how proud I am of you. It can't have been easy facing your fears like that. Oh, I know, it's only a minor anxiety disorder." She sought to minimize the extent of his phobia, knowing how he had always denied the strength of its clutches. "Nevertheless, it can't have been easy. You've done so well. I saw the evidence of that last night. Whatever you decide to do next … with your career … and, um with your life, you deserve every success."

"Yes, … ah … thank you." He was always uneasy receiving a compliment. "Nonetheless, I don't want you to think that …" his voice trailed off. He stood up and paced the floor. "That I was trying to mislead you."

She remained silent, watching intently his restless trail across the room. If he lost the courage now to tell her how he felt, she would never know how she fit into his plans, presuming she did at all.

Martin drew in a large breath and sputtered out the words before he lost the courage to do so. "It's just that … you see … you understand don't you? … You matter too … I didn't think up until three weeks ago that you would ever be interested in seeing me again … but somehow, inexplicably, here you are. Maybe we could find a way to include you in all this?"

She rose from the couch and blocked his path, putting a forced halt to his pacing. He stopped barely a foot in front of her. She put her hands up to his shirtfront, stopping the forward motion of his body, placing her palms firmly on his chest. He stood immobile, hands drawn uncomfortably into tight fists by his sides. Tentatively he place one hand on her hip.

In a very small voice she said, "Oh, Martin. Yes. Oh, yes." All the wheels in her brain rapidly began clicking away at once, running in two very different directions at the same time. She was elated, thrilled beyond measure; Martin did want her back in his life! But in what way? She was apprehensive; Liverpool, what did that entail for her?

How much was she prepared to give up to be with him? How much would he expect? That she move again? Quit yet another excellent job? What about her own career trajectory? Must she give up hope of moving permanently to Port Wenn? Would they have to move back again to London, in another couple of years, when Martin was offered a Department Headship? What about having children? Was he promising marriage again? Were all of her concerns secondary, even subservient to his desires, his career?

"I think you will find Liverpool quite a satisfactory place to live. I'll be earning quite a decent salary so there won't be any need for you to work, unless you want to. And we needn't come back here again except perhaps to visit Joan," he murmured happily into her hair.

Troubled, she drew sharply away from him, brushed her hair back from her face and placed both her hands in the back pockets of her shorts.

"Um … yes … perhaps."

He was puzzled by her response. He thought she would be ecstatic at the prospect of their being a couple again, his career on the rise once more, and finally away permanently from this dreadful backwater with its insipid, backward inhabitants. He assumed she would be as pleased as he. It simply did not occur to him that what he was offering might not be all that she wanted too.

Louisa was disappointed that he hadn't taken this moment of shared promise to hold her, to wrap his arms around her waist and whisper much needed words of reassurance, words she needed to hear.

She said quietly, "Guess we both have quite a lot to think about, don't we? How about we talk during the week?"

Wouldn't you like to go out to dinner this evening? It's already five-thirty. We could drive up the coast?"

"Um … no, actually. I think we both need some time to let all this sink in. I don't seem to have much of an appetite right now. And I think we've talked ourselves out for one day, don't you?" She kissed his cheek.

Martin suppressed the urge to wrap his arms around her, to bury his face in her hair, to kiss her lips and reassure her that their shared future would be magnificent, all that they had hoped for the first time around. And so the afternoon ended much as it had begun; Martin, ever cautious, denying his instincts, refusing to surrender to his emotions.

He made his excuses and left shortly thereafter.

X X X X X X

To be continued ….


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

"No. I don't see it that way nor do I share your dire assessment." Lindsay plunged her fork into the mound of pesto and whole wheat spaghetti, slowly spinning pasta around the fork tines.

They were enjoying a farewell dinner at the Bosman's prior to Lindsay's Wednesday departure for her family holiday in Cumbria. Originally planned for a night out at the Crab and Lobster, Louisa had requested the change in venue because of the confidential nature of the matter they were currently discussing. She wanted to be certain that no one overheard about Martin's plans to escape Port Wenn.

Louisa quickly swallowed her mouthful of barbequed eggplant. "Seriously? He wants me to be part of his life again but can't he see that includes more upheaval and tumult in my own? I've already moved to London, next on to Liverpool and then probably back to London again. All within the space of a few years. And will I be his partner or his wife?"

"Will we have one child or two or maybe none at all? He's never been keen on children. Will he bother to make time to be a proper father or does he plan to follow in the repressive Ellingham tradition of shipping his offspring to a posh boarding school? What about my career, my friends? I don't intend to play the part of a wealthy surgeon's wife, spending my days doing volunteer work with the botoxed and anorexic wives of the other physicians." She caught her breath before taking a large gulp of Merlot.

"Of course not. But don't you think you are rather jumping to conclusions? Maybe worrying too much? You two haven't begun to discuss any of this yet."

"Apparently we don't need to. He's already made all of the major decisions. I guess I get to tag along; the subservient other half," she grumbled.

"It's not as bad as all that, surely?" Lindsay speared a cherry tomato.

"You're not suggesting that I give up my career, my home and friends just to please a man?" Louisa cried.

Lindsay replied calmly, "Again, a resounding no. But there are compromises which you both could make and if Martin is hell bent on returning to surgery, well, he can't do that in the tiny metropolis of Port Wenn, can he? Either you both move to Liverpool or London or wherever, otherwise you have a long distance relationship, unless – "

"Unless what?" Louisa sat forward anxiously in her chair. Was there another viable solution? She certainly hoped there was; she so wanted to be with Martin but not at the cost of submerging her own identity.

"He could find something else to do that satisfies him. I don't know exactly what. You know him better than anybody. Talk to him about it; explore the options together. That's why you came to Port Wenn, isn't it? And surely you didn't expect Martin's life to remain at a complete standstill these past eight months, did you?"

"Um … yes, actually." Louisa was shamefaced. "His phobia chained him to this village and this job. He has no real friends, no social life and only solitary hobbies." She looked down at her plate, embarrassed by the confession. "I thought he would be pretty much the same, doing all the same things, just as I had left him."

"You mean stagnating without you?"

"I sort of fantasized that would be the case … yes."

"Right. He was certainly miserable enough, depressed I would say but it also seems that he was turning his life around, regaining his ambition."

"Er … yes. Which is brilliant but I thought we'd - "

"Pick up exactly where you left off, only maybe he'd missed you so terribly that he'd be willing to change completely to please you? That there would be some ideal romantic solution?"

"Uh huh." Louisa hung her head dejectedly. "I had hoped that after we became friends everything else would click into place. I'm too much of a romantic. It wasn't a realistic notion."

"No. That perspective probably wasn't fair to Martin either. Look, if my darling ex-husband suddenly decided that he would change in every way I desired plus agree to live exactly the life I wanted, I'd take him back in a heartbeat. What spouse wouldn't? But our partners deserve to live the life they want too. The trick is achieving a compromise and balance that will make you both happy; that's going to involve making all the big decisions together. Wasn't that part of the problem with Danny Steele the second time around?"

"Uh huh. Martin didn't appear interested in me so I was contemplating Danny's offer to fix up his Mum's place and move in with him. Suddenly Danny wanted to get married and rush off to London for the sake of his career. Mine, even though a School Head, didn't really figure into the equation. Danny assumed that I would just get any old job teaching in the east end."

"Kind of like what you assume Martin is thinking? That your career is less important? That all schools, all teaching positions, are the same? Even when you've been a highly respected Head who significantly pulled up the standards of her rural school and presently holds a senior teaching position at a prominent London girls' school?"

"Yes, that's it exactly. Martin can be so chauvinistic." Louisa pointed her fork determinedly into the air. "I won't be any man's appendage let alone a kept woman. I would never be satisfied if I'm only on the periphery of my partner's life."

"Good for you. Me too. But keep in mind that if it's truly Martin that you wish to spend the rest of your life with, you will have to make some compromises too."

"Yes but I'm not willing to give up everything I want in life."

Lindsay replied emphatically, "I said compromise, Louisa, not subjugation. You are too astute to let that happen. You will sense the tipping point."

Louisa stared forlornly at the half eaten food on her plate. She toyed with the barbequed corn on the cob, rolling it back and forth across the ceramic surface. Life was not playing out in the scenario she had imagined while she sat alone in her London bedsit, planning her return to Port Wenn.

From the instant Martin had opened the back door of his home to find her standing there exactly three weeks ago, Louisa had known with absolute certainty that she wanted him back. It wasn't an intellectual decision; it was visceral, chemical, and instinctive. But their life together must involve being a team, partners, equals. She had been in enough relationships before to comprehend what this meant. Martin, however, had not. A habitual loner, he had steamrolled through anybody and anyone who got in his way in life.

Lindsay carefully watched her, empathizing with her friend's angst, struggling to find a bright spot. "Louisa, remember at the beginning of this conversation when I said that I didn't share your dire assessment of the situation?"

Louisa looked up. "Yes, sorry. We never did get round to discussing that, did we? What exactly did you mean?"

"That believe it or not, the two of you are making progress."

Louisa rolled her eyes skeptically and shook her head.

"No, honestly. From how you've described your interactions with Martin over the past three weeks, especially this last weekend, I'd say that your relationship dynamics have altered considerably for the better."

"It doesn't feel much like it." Louisa was discouraged; her usual bright outlook having been clouded by Martin's plans.

"Oh, come on. You are both resisting the urge to rush into anything, particularly sex. You are slowly establishing a dialogue instead of running away or avoiding difficult subjects. Martin has finally begun to trust and confide in you. That is something you have craved for years. You two are talking, spending more time together, bickering less, becoming friends. And you, well, it sounds like all those weeks conscientiously studying those relationship books have served you well. You have learned a great deal."

Lindsay paused for a final mouthful of eggplant. She continued, "The techniques for diffusing conflict, for criticizing less, for fostering empathy, for developing better communication; you have been implementing them all and its paying off soundly. You now have the tools necessary. There has been lots of progress too. Remember when Martin's parents were visiting two years ago and you offered him a shoulder to 'moan' on? He told you to shut up, didn't he? Today he came back to apologize, to explain his plan and the reasoning behind it. I'd say Martin has come quite far already."

Louisa nodded, the beginnings of a smile surfaced and the characteristic sparkle reappeared in her green eyes. Feeling slightly more optimistic, she picked up her knife and fork, twirled a large mound of spaghetti and ate it all in one mouthful.

Lindsay said," Your wine glass is empty. No, don't bother getting up. I'll get us both a refill while I'm in the kitchen. There is a brochure I want to get from my purse to show you. I found at least one fun thing I can do with my family. I'm going to suggest we take my young niece and nephew to The World of Beatrix Potter Attraction in Bowness-on-Windermere. They'll love meeting the characters from the stories. My parents should enjoy the heritage plants and flowers in the Peter Rabbit garden. And I will enjoy a reprieve from all the bickering and criticism."

Louisa laughed and turned her attention happily to her side salad.

Lindsay walked into the kitchen but turned back momentarily to observe, unnoticed, her friend. Yes, it was undeniable that Louisa and Martin were making progress on all the relationship fronts she had mentioned. Almost imperceptibly, she and Martin seemed to have transitioned from the "will they/won't they get back together" phase into the "can they/can't they live together" stage. And this latter was the more dangerous period, finding out whether two such different people could/should be together.

Love alone, even intense, mind-blowing, knee weakening love like theirs, cannot conquer all. Compatibility, compromise, conciliation, these were part of the equipment required to build and maintain a happy equilibrium, especially when two such diverse personalities were involved.

Martin could be overbearing, demanding and insensitive. Louisa was, at times, stubborn, demanding and impatient. Lindsay sincerely hoped that the two of them were sufficiently motivated and equipped to handle that. For the first time in months, she finally thought so.

X X X X X X

To be continued ….


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

"But you did explain to her that forging a relationship again is foremost amongst your priorities?"

"Um … not exactly in those words … no."

"Martin, you did make it unequivocally clear to her?"

"Perhaps not with that amount of clarity or precision."

Dr. Travers could not suppress a frown.

"Of course I want Louisa back. Isn't that what we have been working for these past few months? But somehow she didn't seem happy about the idea of moving to Liverpool with me. I don't understand it. I thought she wanted us to be a couple again."

"Maybe it's because it came as a total surprise to her, and, it's not what she had envisioned for the two of you."

"Why not?"

"Because she has the course of her own life to consider. In past sessions you have described how Louisa rose above a difficult childhood to become a highly valued pillar of her community. She feels lonely and unfulfilled in London and wants to come home. You've told her that you want to work things out and then you spring on her that you hope to move to Liverpool in three months. Even I'm confused."

"How so? It appears perfectly straightforward to me. My haemophobia gets cured. If I get the surgeon's position then we move to Liverpool." Martin scowled, impatient that two intelligent people could not understand the logic of the obvious.

Dr. Travers sucked in a long breath before responding. Dr. Ellingham could be so exasperating at times, so entrenched in his own opinions, oblivious to the needs and emotions of others. "Let me summarize. When we started your cognitive behaviour therapy your stated goal was to eventually diminish and hopefully eradicate your phobia. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Part of that treatment involved exploring the underlying emotional issues that precipitated the haemophobia. After some initial reluctance you complied."

"Er … yes but I still think all of that was unnecessary."

"That may be. Nonetheless you did learn that repressing your emotions led to an externalization involving anxiety behaviours. Your stated goal was to rid yourself of the phobia so that you could broaden your career options, especially if reconciliation with Louisa wasn't possible. Correct?"

"Correct." This was becoming tedious.

"As time went on, particularly after you received Louisa's note that she was returning to Port Wenn for the summer, your priority in the sessions switched to confronting the issues that you believed had led to the demise of your wedding. Cognitive behaviour therapy for your phobia continued but primarily through your desensitization and exposure homework which I monitored during our weekly sessions."

"Congratulations. Your long term memory appears intact. Can we move on now? I'm not paying for a rehash of the past fourteen weeks of therapy."

"There appears to be a disconnect between your previously stated goals and what you now seem to want."

"No, there isn't! Consult your treatment notes! My phobia gets cured. I get to leave that wretched little fish bowl of a village. I get Louisa back. Even before my phobia was on the road to recovery, I had thought several times about leaving Port Wenn but I stayed because of Louisa. Now that she has left Port Wenn, that's no longer a necessary consideration. It's really quite logical. You are always digging for problems that don't exist." Martin was annoyed. Was it true that this man was considered an expert in his field?

"And that all seems fine, Martin, providing of course that Louisa doesn't mind never returning to Port Wenn. Perhaps you assume too much. What if your phobia gets cured but Louisa wants to live in Port Wenn? You have told me that she isn't happy in London. Would you be content to give up Liverpool or London if they wouldn't make her happy?"

"Oh, I think that she will get over that. She understands that my career takes precedence over hers. I will be the primary provider. She can pick up some sort of teaching job in either place, if she wants something to occupy her time. She is an excellent teacher and administrator."

In an effort to restrain himself, Dr. Travers almost bit his tongue, wondering sardonically whether Martin had ever heard of equal rights for women. "Why would your career take precedence over hers?"

Martin peered incredulously at the psychologist; perhaps he really was an idiot, like most of the others. "Because I am a highly trained vascular surgeon. I did save many lives, you know, not to mention restored a quality of life to those who otherwise would not have had it. Teachers don't do that. They teach the alphabet and how to count."

"I think there is a great deal more to it than that; teachers leave a lifelong intellectual and emotional imprint on their students. Teaching well takes real talent; some might say it is a vocation. It is a highly demanding profession."

Martin sniffed and checked his watch.

"Didn't you once tell me that Louisa was considered one of the best teachers in Cornwall and wasn't she the youngest Headmistress ever in the district? Sounds like a highly accomplished professional in her own right. Not so different from you, in fact."

"Of course she is."

"Then why demean her?"

"What? Don't be stupid! I am not doing that. I would never do that."

"But you are when you claim that her career does not matter. Maybe she doesn't want any old job. Maybe she should be involved in the major decisions that affect both of your lives."

Martin remained silent, glaring at the psychologist. He hadn't considered this. His plan had seemed to simple and straightforward. Surely she would derive sufficient satisfaction seeing him reinstated to his former glory. Wouldn't that be enough for her?

Seeing the incomprehension on Martin's face, Dr. Travers continued with his explanation, attempting to find an argument to which Martin could relate.

"Louisa, like any partner in a marriage of equals, needs an equal say. You cannot autocratically impose your will upon her. Didn't you tell me that your father did that to your mother?" Martin gulped. "And didn't you say that your mother, although she acquiesced, always resented it?" Martin winced. "Your father never wanted your mother to work. Your mother had no sense of independence or identity apart from your father. They had a very difficult and unhappy marriage, yes? Is that what you want too? To dominate Louisa? To subjugate her to your will?"

Martin blanched. "No! Louisa is nothing like my mother! Far from it and I resent you attempting the preposterous comparison." He pointed a finger angrily at Dr. Travers.

"Then, Martin. Do not treat her that way or you will surely jeopardize your relationship again and all that you have achieved these past three weeks. Remember your recurring nightmare?" Martin grimaced. "You were haunted by thoughts of how good life with Louisa could be and how you had thrown it all away. Remember how miserable you were without her? To prevent that reoccurrence, you are going to have to make concessions too."

Martin was sulking. The last thing he wanted was to lose Louisa but why did relationships have to be so bloody complicated? "Like what? Drop Liverpool entirely?"

Inwardly Dr. Travers let out a groan. Martin Ellingham saw life only in absolutes, never grasping its subtleties and nuances. "There is no need to resort to extremes. Assess what components of the Royal Liverpool position most appeal to you. Is it only the act of performing surgery? What about the research, teaching, publishing, the intellectual stimulation, the patient contact? Could you get the same satisfaction doing only some of these things? Could you find them elsewhere? Or is all so important that you would sacrifice your life with Louisa to it, if necessary?"

What utter rubbish, thought Martin. He eyed Dr. Travers' hand and sneered, "I notice you're not wearing a wedding band. I suppose that those who cannot do, teach."

"That doesn't mean I'm not married. Don't deflect and don't attack just because you feel uncomfortable with what I am saying. Look. You have every right to take the Liverpool job if that is what you want. You certainly have earned it, having worked so hard to begin resolving the difficult issues in your life. You are to be highly commended for that."

Martin sighed. Hadn't Louisa said the same thing but looked equally as unhappy as Dr. Travers did now?"

The sigh, the fidgeting, the discomfort, all revealed to the psychologist that he was not successfully getting through to his patient. Another strategy was required, perhaps modeling would do. The comment about the wedding band gave him an idea.

Dr. Travers twirled his pen in his hand. "I believe that I would have made a pretty good psychologist regardless."

Martin knew this to be sheer modesty. He had researched Travers on the internet before coming to his first appointment. Not only was the man considered an expert in his field but he had a string of awards, commendations and published papers to his credit.

"What has made me a better psychologist was my wife."

Martin hadn't expected this. His interest was peaked. "Is your wife a psychologist too?"

"No, she's not She works in an entirely different profession. She is a woman blessed with a great deal of emotional intelligence, compassion and empathy. She provides me with a stable marriage and a happy home life."

"You and I, Martin, we both work in professions where the good days are immensely gratifying and rewarding. The bad days, albeit few and far between if we are fortunate, can be devastating. Frequently we bear witness to diseases that cannot be cured, deaths that cannot be prevented and some that should have been, families that are decimated by mental and physical illnesses. These are facts of life for anyone working in the helping professions."

He continued. "Yes, I have colleagues and friends to vent to, who can sympathize with what I am going through. But at the end of the day it is my wife who I come home to for support and comfort. I am a better man and most certainly a better psychologist because of her. If you continually put your own happiness ahead of Louisa's, if you provide her only with the future you think she should have, if you make her unhappy and resentful in her own life then do not expect her to be there to support you in yours."

Dr. Travers put down his notebook and paused to emphasize his point. "All that I am trying to advise is that you consider Louisa's feelings. One of the primary goals you wished to achieve in therapy was to learn to make Louisa happy. Well, you appear to be making great progress in that regard."

"Don't stop now at this crucial juncture, otherwise this time you might lose her permanently. You are at a crossroads, Martin. Make the correct decision about which path to take otherwise you might be walking alone."

X X X X X X

To be continued ….


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

They hadn't seen each other all week. Monday evening Louisa spent discussing Martin with Lindsay. Wednesday evening Martin spent discussing Louisa with Dr. Travers. Tuesday Martin had a medical emergency to attend and Thursday Louisa had dinner out with former colleagues from Port Wenn Primary. It was just as well. They both needed time and space away from each other to absorb and process where they stood. Martin in particular was fretting; the ominous words of Dr. Travers still twisting in his brain.

Their only contact had been by telephone when Martin briefly called Louisa on Tuesday afternoon to say that the anticipated letter had arrived from the Royal Liverpool Hospital Department of Vascular Surgery inviting him to attend a second interview the following Thursday. Louisa suggested they have dinner together at the Bosman's on Friday evening. She offered to make the entrée; Martin offered to bring a homemade dessert and salad.

It was all very civil. Neither wanted to enter into a conversation which might prove contentious; both were looking for a way to forge their lives together despite having very different interpretations of what that meant. Both were avoiding the inevitable discussion, hoping it would not culminate in a fierce showdown.

On Friday afternoon, shortly after the surgery closed for the weekend and Pauline had left the office, Louisa telephoned Martin.

"Sorry to call you at the last minute but there will have to be a slight change of plans."

"Don't you want me to come over?" Martin exclaimed, concerned that the lack of contact these past few days had been intentional on Louisa's part. Perhaps she was telephoning to cancel their plans? The arrival of his letter from the Royal Liverpool must have unsettled her more than he had assumed.

"Of course I do, Martin. It's only that something has happened and I won't be able to make dinner."

It was just as he feared; she was putting him off. Dejectedly he said, "We could have dinner tomorrow night if that would suit you better. I read an excellent review for a restaurant on this side of Truro."

"No, no. You misunderstood me. I do want to have dinner with you. Tonight and here. It's just that I can't make our dinner."

"Oh, right. I don't mind eating a little late if you are detained. Or I could help you to cook. I've already made the salad and the lemon mousse."

"No, that's not quite what I meant either. It's not that I haven't the time to make the food. It's that I have been unable to cook because an hour ago I had a small accident and I –"

"What! What's happened to you?" Martin shouted into the phone. He perched on the edge of his seat.

She could detect the note of panic in his voice. "Calm down, Martin. Sweet of you to worry though there's no need. I fell off a ladder in the back garden and – "

"Don't move! I'll be right over!" He stood up, knocking aside his pen and dropping the medical journal onto the floor.

"Stop. No, Martin, calm down and listen to what I am saying. It's nothing serious. Byron was up in a tree in Caroline's backyard and - "

"Who?"

"Byron. The cat from whose paw you skillfully removed the thorn last Saturday evening. Anyway, he was meowing rather plaintively and I thought he was stuck on the tree limb and afraid to come down. So I put the stepladder against the tree trunk and climbed up a few rungs to get him down. He jumped onto the ground of his own volition."

"Stupid animal."

"I however was not so lucky. He startled me; I lost my balance and fell off backwards onto the ground. It wasn't much of a fall but I landed on my right foot, twisted it then fell back onto my … er … bottom."

"Are you in a great deal of pain? Can you move at all?"

"Which part of me?"

"Both. Your foot?"

"It's painful but not broken. It's starting to swell though."

"Your …um … gluteus maximus?"

"It's a bit sore but I think I'm going to have one gigantic, wacking bruise there tomorrow, at least on one … side."

Pushing aside the thought of Louisa's bottom, Martin asked,"Do you require an ambulance? I can call for one before I come over."

"No, honestly, it's not that serious of an injury. I've already crawled into the house and grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. I'm lying on the sofa now with it pressed against my foot."

"Alright, stay calm. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Martin, relax. Working in a school I've seen my fair share of sprains. I know what to do. What I want you to do is – "

"You are resting the foot? Not moving it?"

"Yes."

"And the frozen peas are sufficiently cold?"

"Yes."

"Have you elevated the foot?"

"Yes."

"And placed a pillow under your … buttocks?"

"Of course. Really, listen to me. All I want you to do is – "

"Keep the peas on your foot any place where you feel pain but intermittently take the peas off and place the bag under your buttocks in order to reduce any attendant bruising and inflammation and – "

"Martin! For Heaven's sake, will you shut up? I'm fine but there is no main course for dinner tonight. That's why I am calling. I was wondering whether you would pick up some take away for us to eat along with the food that you've already prepared. How about fish and chips from Mrs. Cronk?"

"Not optimum nutrition but it will be expedient under such emergency circumstances as these. Stay calm. I'll be at your place within the hour."

"That's great. Thank you. Take your time and don't worry about me, I'll be fine – "There was no need for her to complete her sentence. Martin had already rung off.

X X X X X X

After a thorough examination of both legs and feet, Martin confirmed Louisa's diagnosis. It was a fairly bad sprain and a few bruises but nothing more traumatic. Martin's panic quelled.

"A couple days without weight bearing certainly. Likely no driving for at least five days. No permanent harm done, fortunately."

"But then I won't be able to drive you to Bodmin Parkway on Wednesday to catch your train." She was downcast.

"I already told you that it's not necessary. It's early in the morning. I'm happy to take a taxi."

"But I can still pick you up upon your return on Friday evening?"

"Provided that your foot is better and it's what you want to do."

Louisa's smile conveyed resolute determination. "It is. I already told you that on Tuesday."

"Fine. Now that it's settled, let us conclude your medical examination. Can you sit up enough to unzip and pull off your shorts, please." It wasn't a question. "Then if you would pull down your undergarment as far as your thighs and lie flat on your stomach."

Louisa looked at him in abject horror. "Pardon me?"

"Louisa, I am a physician and I need to manually examine your buttocks, hips, coccyx and lower spine to ensure that you haven't done any lasting damage."

"I bloody well will not! You're not my doctor anymore, you're my … Okay, I'm not exactly sure what you are these days. Furthermore, as I already told you, it's only my right ch … side. It's sore, not painful."

"If you would only stop being so silly then I can-"

"I told you no." She was certain she must be blushing. She fervently hoped that sometime within the next month Martin would ask her again to undress in his presence. The motivation would be much different from tonight: unbridled lust rather than medical license.

X X X X X X

The evening passed quickly. They ate dinner quietly and companionably in the lounge with Louisa reclining on extra pillows on the large sofa. Her backside was beginning to hurt and her ankle and arch turned progressively red, purple and blue. By nine o'clock she was ready for bed. Martin had already done the washing up and fed Byron. Neither felt up to discussing Liverpool tonight.

Louisa insisted on trying the stairs by herself but soon realized she could not stand on both feet, let alone manage the steep staircase. Resisting all of Martin's offers of assistance, she tried sitting on her backside and lifting herself up stair by stair but it hurt her bottom too much. She was beaten, resigning herself to spending the night on the large sofa in the lounge.

"Nonsense. I'll carry you up the stairs. You're quite light."

"No, Martin. The sofa is comfortable enough."

"Louisa, don't be obstinate. Tomorrow you're going to feel rather stiff and sore. You'll be a lot happier resting in bed."

She sighed. "Alright. What do you propose to do, carry me over your shoulder like a sack of flour?"

Martin took off his suit jacket and draped it carefully over a dining room chair. "No," he said matter of factly, "I'm going to carry you up those stairs in my arms and straight into bed.

Music to her ears. Louisa did not trust herself to speak. How long had she waited to hear those words again? Perhaps not quite in this context. Reluctantly she brought herself back to the present reality. "Oh. Okay."

Martin gently swooped her up into his arms. Needing to steady herself, she slung one arm around his shoulder blades and the other over his chest. As Martin concentrated on negotiating the stairs, gingerly avoiding her feet hitting the banister, Louisa luxuriated in holding onto the firm muscles of his upper back and chest. She laid her head on his shirt front, treating herself to the clean smell of his soap and the slightest hint of perspiration on his skin. She closed her eyes and drunk in the resultant pleasures.

She was forced out of her reverie by the sound of Martin's voice. "I said which way to your bedroom?"

Words she so longed to hear and for so long. "I'm in the guest bedroom. Two doors down on your right."

He carried her there, depositing her ever so softly onto the queen bed. "I will wait until you get undressed."

She did not quite know how to respond to his commanding voice. Did he plan on seducing her? With one bruised buttock and a painful ankle, she didn't quite feel up to negotiating the physicality of sex tonight, much to her chagrin.

"I will wait outside. Call me when you are in your pajamas and I will help you to the bathroom."

Okay, she had misinterpreted his motives. She felt a little foolish. Martin would never take advantage of the situation.

Once she had changed into the pajamas he taken out of the bureau for her, she hopped to and from the bathroom by leaning on his arm. He helped her into bed, loosening the covers so as not to allow them to bear down on her swollen foot. He left the bedroom and returned with a glass of water which he laid on her night table in case she grew thirsty during the night.

"I'll go downstairs and lock up. If you tell me where I can find a spare pillow and blanket, I will prepare the sofa." He stood beside her bed, fists clenched.

"Prepare for what?"

"I'm sleeping there tonight."

"No, Martin. Please go home. You have done enough already." He could be so considerate and kind when he chose. Why did he find it so difficult to be this gentle and solicitous in matters other than her health?

"Louisa, you may need assistance getting to the bathroom overnight. You don't want to risk a fall and require a trip to the hospital, do you? Just call me and I will come right up. You may remember that I am somewhat of a light sleeper."

She remembered. It made her smile. He used to complain about her alleged snoring.

"Honestly, I'm so tired that I'm sure I will sleep through the night, certainly after I take the paracetemol. Please go home. Bring my mobile upstairs to me. I promise to call if I really need you."

He was reluctant to comply with her wishes. She eventually convinced him but only after agreeing to let him stay until she fell asleep.

"Give me your house keys."

"Why?"

"You won't need them tonight. You are not going anywhere. I'll shut off the lights downstairs before I leave. In the event that you are in distress overnight, I will need your keys to get in the door."

As usual, she could not argue with his logic.

Martin did not leave the house until after eleven. Louisa had dozed off a half hour earlier but he had chosen to remain by her side a little longer, watching over her.

X X X X X X

To be continued …


	29. Chapter 29

Author's note: From my desk here in chilly Canada this Christmas Eve afternoon, I wish all the readers and writers across the continents a most joyous holiday.

Chapter Twenty Nine

When Louisa awoke next morning she heard someone rattling around the kitchen. It couldn't be Byron making all that noise.

She called out, "Hello? Who's there?"

Not that she would be of much use defending the Bosman property in her present condition. Martin's prediction had been accurate; she did feel stiff and sore. She pushed back the covers and tried standing. Letting out a yelp she plopped back down on the bed. She heard heavy footsteps on the staircase."

"Louisa, are you alright?" Martin's large, reassuring head appeared around the door. "I heard you scream."

"Not really a scream, more of a small yelp."

"Tell me what's wrong."

And then he looked down at the foot resting on the bed sheets. The swelling was twice the size of last night and the bruising had darkened.

He frowned. "I think that you had better stay off that as much as possible this weekend." He looked at her severely. "If you had allowed me to bandage your ankle and foot last night, the inflammation would have been much reduced. I explained to you that a gentle compression treatment would have been the prudent course of action." He sighed pointedly. Did none of his patients ever take his advice, even the ones who purported to love him?

Louisa concurred with his treatment plan.

"Do you want me to examine your backside now?" No sexual innuendo here. He was all business.

"Um … no, thank you."

"How is it?"

"What?"

"Your right buttock."

She looked down at her pajamas, too embarrassed to meet his eye. "The left side is fine. The right side feels quite tender. A bit sore actually. I'll check for bruising in the bathroom mirror. Speaking of which, I need to go. Would you mind helping me to get there?"

"Of course. Shall I carry you?"

"Um, no thank you. That's very kind of you but I think I can manage it if I lean on your arm."

They negotiated their way successfully to and from the bathroom despite grimaces and groans on Louisa's part. She was right; she had sustained a large bruise on her backside and her lower back ached. Martin was right; she would be unable to weight bear today and likely not tomorrow. He insisted that she return to bed at least until lunchtime. She mounted no argument.

As soon as he had her settled back in bed, he brought her up a breakfast tray. As she cracked the hard boiled egg, she asked, "How long have you been here this morning?"

"Since eight-forty."

"Martin! There was no need to arrive so early. The weekends are your only chance to sleep in."

His voice was tender. "You needed your sleep and I was afraid that horrid feline would disturb you this morning."

"Byron? Oh no. I completely forgot about feeding him his breakfast. He must be howling up a storm downstairs."

"No, he's content. I fed him and cleaned out his litter box before I made your breakfast."

"Thank you, Martin. That was very thoughtful. That cat owes you more than one debt of gratitude, as do I. Don't imagine you enjoyed cleaning out that litter box."

Martin's nose wrinkled at the memory. "It smelt disgusting. I brought along a pair of latex gloves for the job. Why on earth do people feel the need to keep domestic pets? They serve no rational purpose."

Louisa smiled. She wondered if the two of them ever produced a child, would Martin wear latex gloves to change its nappies? But she was getting way ahead of herself. They hadn't yet discussed Martin's impending trip to Liverpool on Wednesday. If he was determined to be her caregiver this weekend then there was still plenty of time. For now she was content to finish her breakfast, swallow another anti-inflammatory pill and perhaps doze off again, secure in the knowledge that Martin was close by, ready and willing to take care of her.

X X X X X X

She awoke to the sound of hoovering. Eyes finally fully opened, she glanced at the clock. Almost one-fifteen. The morning sleep-in had done her some good. She was slightly less sore and marginally less tired. A few minutes later the hoovering stopped. She called out to Martin but there was no answer. She dialed his mobile.

"Ellingham!" barked an irritated voice. "I am not on call this weekend therefore this interruption had better be well justified."

"It's only me, Martin. Good afternoon."

"Louisa. Don't move. I'll be right up."

Before she could utter another word, the line went dead. She could hear him bounding up the stairs. She had to suppress a laugh when he entered her bedroom, he looked so altered from the stern, commanding physician of last night. His suit jacket was off, his red tie slightly askew. The shirtsleeves of his French blue shirt were rolled half way up his forearms. This domesticated Martin wore one of Tom Bosman's barbeque aprons, the red and white checked gingham one, over his shirt and grey suit pants, a duster sticking out from one of the pockets.

Her eyebrows arched. "Whatever have you been doing down there?"

Afraid that his weight on the bed might jostle her and cause her undue pain, he chose to sit on the straight backed chair across from the bed. Louisa adjusted herself slightly on the three pillows beneath her in order to get a better view.

"I've hoovered the whole of the main floor, mopped the kitchen and dusted the lounge and library."

"Martin, there was no need to do all of that. I would have gotten around to it later this week."

"You will need to stay off that foot for at least another two days before you can start weight bearing and even then I imagine that it will be somewhat painful. Housework requires two strong feet placed firmly on the ground. I see that the Bosmans' have a varied selection of walking sticks in their umbrella stand."

"Yes, both Caroline and Tom are avid ramblers."

"Tomorrow we can try out several of the smaller canes to find the most suitable. You should be able to use the cane to assist you in getting around the house. It will be a lot less dangerous than hopping."

"Speaking of which, can you help me hop to the bathroom now?"

X X X X X X

The remainder of the day was a productive and busy one for Martin. He completed his self-prescribed list of household chores despite Louisa's protestations that she would do it all next week. He had driven home for a couple of hours to pick up his dry-cleaning and to print off several articles he wanted to review in preparation for his interview in Liverpool.

The evening passed once again companionably. By eight-thirty Louisa was tired enough to return to bed. At nine o'clock BBC One was showing an adaptation of a Thomas Hardy novel and she wanted to watch it. Martin, having carried her up the stairs like precious cargo, helped her to and from the bathroom and into bed, made ready to go downstairs to read the articles.

"No, Martin. You've had a long day. Why not rest here awhile?" Pointing to the small telly opposite the foot of her bed, she beckoned, "Come watch with me. You said you enjoyed reading Hardy at boarding school. Tomorrow I intend to leave you alone as much as possible. You have done more than enough for me already and I want you to have plenty of time to prepare for your interview. I'm feeling rather guilty for monopolizing so much of your time today."

Giving a grunt of assent, Martin lifted the chair to bring it closer to the bed. He admitted reluctantly to himself that he was feeling too tired to study tonight.

Louisa shook her head. "No, not there. Your back will hurt if you have to sit for two hours on that uncomfortable, straight-backed thing."

She patted the space beside her on the queen sized bed. "Here. Come sit with me."

Martin shook his head. "No, my shifting on the mattress might cause you discomfort."

"I don't think so. I'm beginning to feel much less stiff and sore, aside from my ankle. Besides, I won't enjoy the program knowing how uncomfortable you are." She flashed him a welcoming smile.

He was hesitant but found the idea of lying beside her again, after all these months, intensely alluring. He shifted his weight onto the left side of the bed, as far away from her as possible.

X X X X X X

At twenty minutes past eleven Louisa awoke to two distinctly varied sensations. The first was the unfamiliar sound of a posh male London accent seemingly speaking directly to her. This she instantly recognized as the announcer for the BBC eleven o'clock world news. She switched off the remote, realizing that she had missed most of the second hour of the Thomas Hardy drama.

The second sensation was utterly magnificent. Martin Ellingham was curled up next to her, sound asleep, one hand resting on her left shoulder, his face buried in her hair. Louisa let out a profound sigh of contentment. It had been more than nine months since he had last done this.

She would have liked to adjust herself slightly downwards on her pillows so as to sleep more comfortably but she was afraid her movement would wake Martin. She did not want to risk that. She knew he would be embarrassed by his actions, by the unconstrained overt and unconscious desire to be in such intimate proximity to her body.

Louisa was well aware that tomorrow she would have to resume the conversation about where she might fit into his plans in the event he moved to Liverpool. But the last twenty four hours had taught her something, something that she had almost forgotten about amidst the disappointments, anger and loneliness of the past months. When she and Martin were alone together, shut away from prying eyes and the pressures of the external world, when they could cease battling each other and call a temporary truce, they were really quite happy together.

It was in moments such as the present that she felt she was the lone witness to a side of Martin that no one else, except perhaps Joan, was likely ever permitted to catch sight of. Here, in this last day and night, had resurfaced the authentic Martin she had always believed lurked beneath the depths of his insecurities: the tender, considerate and caring man. There had been lovely but fleeting glimpses of him during the past three weeks and during their engagement but nothing like this weekend. It had rekindled something inside of her too; the pleasure and enjoyment of simply being with him.

She was cognizant of the reality that tomorrow's discussion would be complicated and demanding. It would represent another strenuous hammering out of issues requiring resolution if they were to forge a satisfactory life together. But this present Martin of the last day, now sleeping so peacefully beside her, was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She would remind herself of this tomorrow and it would temper the steel and sharpness of the blade she would wield to cut her way through his reticence and rudeness.

X X X X X X

Sunday saw them both busy and productive. When Louisa awoke in the morning, Martin was gone. He had awoken shortly after dawn and driven himself home for a shower, change of clothes and to eat breakfast while he read articles on the latest trends in cardiovascular surgery. By ten o'clock he was back at the Bosman's preparing breakfast for Louisa.

She was determined today to reclaim some of her independence and to leave Martin alone to continue his reading and research on her laptop computer. By mid-afternoon she was able to use one of Caroline's walking sticks to hobble sporadically around the main floor. By four o'clock she was tired from her day's exertions and from having negotiated a brief shower in the shower stall in the ensuite bathroom attached to Caroline and Tom's bedroom. She had been insistent that Martin not help her. By five o'clock she was resting on the sofa in the lounge, too stiff to move. Martin had just put in a casserole for their dinner.

She dropped her book onto her lap when he came in, placed a large, manilla envelope onto the table beside her and sat down opposite the sofa. Opening the envelope she pulled out several pages of printed information.

"What's all this?"

"Um … articles about Liverpool. I printed them off my computer when I returned home this morning. Just general facts regarding the geography and culture of the city. I also put in some information about house and flat prices in some of the better suburbs. We could hire a real estate agent to help us search out a home. That is … if I get the job."

This was it. No more time to avoid, postpone or run away. That was hardly practical anyway given that she could barely leave the main floor without his help and he would not flee if it meant leaving her unfed and unsettled for the night.

She looked at him full on in the face. Taking a long breath first to steady herself, she said gently, "Martin, you must know how deeply proud of you I am, overcoming your hemaephobia. ... And how happy you have made me these past three weeks, wanting to work things out and be together once more. But … listen to me … I want you to take this job in Liverpool if that is what you really want as the next step in your medical career and if it will truly make you fulfilled. But … if I am to be totally honest with you, Martin, I don't want to move to Liverpool with you."

"What!"

X X X X X X

To be continued later this week …


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

What Louisa said made absolutely no sense to him. His brain parsed out the illogical connections in rapid succession: she was proud of his progress in overcoming his phobia (good), she wanted him to accept the position in Liverpool (good), he had made her happy in their efforts to reconcile (very good). All of this should rationally lead to the conclusion that she wanted to move with him to Liverpool (very good).

This is where her thought process broke down: she wanted to be together but did not. She cared for him but not enough to give up her unhappy existence in London. Then his brain postulated another hypothesis: Louisa was always rabbiting on about how much she loved Port Wenn. Surely she didn't expect him to abandon his escape route, his return to his true calling after this temporary sidestep?

"Martin, say something. Anything. I can see you trying to puzzle it out. Do it out loud and with me as a participant, please."

He rubbed his hands together and stood up suddenly. "I should check on the casserole."

"You did that five minutes ago before we began this conversation. And if that's what this is meant to be then we both better start talking. Sit down." She wasn't about to let him retreat, to run away as usual.

He did reluctantly as he was told; she had always wielded that inexplicable power over him when no one else could.

"Maybe I'd better be the one to start off, considering I am the one who just dropped the bombshell." She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over one eye. She had rehearsed this bit over and over yesterday, struggling to get it just right; a direct impact but not devastating. "It's that I worry that my life will get swallowed up by yours and … well, … I'll become very unhappy and … that it won't work out between us. That is something I could not bear again."

Martin clenched his fists together, struggling to repel the unwanted flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him: bewilderment, distress, disappointment, hurt. It should not be like this, his agitated brain kept repeating. You offered her everything that should make her happy: a lovely house by the sea, the opportunity never to have to work again. What could be more ideal? Suddenly he realized his mistake. He hadn't said all of this aloud, had not fully described all of his plans for their future. He would correct this immediately; she would see her error and relent.

"I comprehend the problem now. We need to talk some more about it," he said.

Louisa exhaled a long sigh of relief and grinned. She hadn't expected him to be so quick on the uptake, to be so perceptive. Maybe she hadn't given his introspective capability enough credit.

"Good," she replied and settled down on the sofa cushion for a long discussion. The tension receded from her shoulders.

Martin pointed to the stack of printouts sitting on her lap. "I think you will find that when you have read through those papers, things will become much clearer."

"About Liverpool?" Now it was her turn to be confused and disappointed. Her fingertips ruffled restlessly through the sheaf. "Why? What possible difference will that make?"

"Because you haven't yet had the chance to realize the merits of the city. Yes, I know it's not London but Northwestern England is quite civilized you know; not like Cornwall."

"It's not that I have anything against Liverpool, Martin. Perhaps I'm not explaining myself properly." Their conversation was veering off on the wrong track. She needed to stop it.

"Louisa, just read through the information," he said impatiently. "When was the last time you visited Liverpool?"

She couldn't seem to halt this now speeding train of misdirection. "When I was in teacher's college. Holly and I and a few of our mates made an homage to the home of the Beatles."

Like a professor pointing out his student's error in argument, Martin pounced on this admission. "Right, close to twenty years ago. Lots has changed since then," Naturally she was reluctant to live somewhere new and strange.

Louisa bristled. He had made her feel old, although she knew this had not been his intention. "It wasn't all that long ago," she answered stiffly.

"Long enough not to have seen the city since its renaissance." He sat forward eagerly, ready to spew out whatever facts and figures necessary to complete her conversion to his point of view.

"No, Martin. It's not the city itself that I worry about – "

But he could not be stopped. He ignored her, thinking he knew best. "Certainly it is no longer the premier port of the British Empire but there is a brand new Museum of Liverpool on the renovated dockside. I walked past it. Its façade is quite striking, made from Jura stone and with two huge glass windows – "

"But Martin – "

"Of course there's a Tate gallery. It's on the Albert Dock which is now a World Heritage Site." He was working hard to impress her. "If you are still interested in the Beatles there is a museum devoted to them on the Dock –"

"No, that's not what I'm talking about – "

He lectured on, oblivious to her growing disinterest, somehow persuaded that each new tourist fact would entice her into accepting his offer.

"Right. I see your point, Louisa. It's not just the arts and cultural life that is important." He paused to draw breath, formulating a new plan of persuasion.

"No, it's not, Martin." Good. Maybe he was beginning to see reason. This had nothing to do with the city.

"But you should know that Liverpool has more art galleries and museums than any other English city with the exception of London." As an afterthought he added with satisfaction, "And one of the best pre-Raphaelite collections in the world."

Louisa threw up her hands in exasperation. Maybe it was better to let his stream of thought run its course. Eventually he would shut up. Then she would steer him back to the true matter at hand.

Martin prattled on a little longer. It was when he extolled the virtues of Liverpool's proximity to the sea, just like Port Wenn, and its ferries crossing the Mersey every hour that she could put up with no more.

Infuriated by his comparison, insulted by his suggestion that this bustling city bore any similarities to her beloved village of a mere one thousand souls, she shouted at him, "Liverpool is nothing like Port Wenn!"

"Exactly." Now she was getting his point. He was winning her over." To top it off, we'll have something else that we cannot possibly get here. Anonymity."

"But I don't want to be anonymous! I feel that way in London and I hate it. Here our jobs make us integral to the welfare of an entire community. We have major responsibilities for and input into the health, welfare and education of many people."

"I can save lives just as well in Liverpool as here," he said plainly. He was resolute, intractable on this issue. She knew this.

She frowned, completely frustrated. "Of course you can. You are an extraordinary physician. But don't you see?" she pleaded. "What you do here is equally as important. Here we are a community, a large family really. We care for and about each other."

"I don't," he said curtly. He was shutting down, refusing to engage in the same, tired argument concerning the merits of Port Wenn.

"Listen," Martin finally said, wanting to make peace by moving to a happier subject. "You can do whatever you want in Liverpool. There's no need for you to work anymore – "

"Yes. About that. Why wouldn't I work?" How dare he presume that she would become dependent on him?

"Because my salary will be a high one. It's largely funded by the drug company manufacturing the new design of stent."

"Sorry? So I ask once more, why shouldn't I work?"

"Because you won't need to. Because I can afford to pay for everything. The house or flat. There are some quite suitable suburbs. It's not like we'll be forced to live amidst the ferris wheels and roller coasters of Blackpool. I'll even buy you your own car." He was proud of the fact that he would be able to support her in the style he thought she deserved. Growing up with a gambler for a father he knew she had been given few luxuries.

"No, thank you. I've always paid my own way in life and I don't intend to stop now." She would never allow herself to be beholden to anybody, even someone she loved.

"Don't be obstinate, Louisa," he snapped. "You will have plenty of free time to do whatever you like." Couldn't she recognize what she was being offered, a life of leisure?

"Like what?" What about a purpose in life, what about helping others, finding a sense of achievement and accomplishment?

"I don't know." He was annoyed. He tapped his foot on the ground in agitation. She should be happy, even grateful. Instead she was angry and insulted. "Take up gardening, paint flowers, play golf or tennis."

"I don't know how to play either," she sniffed.

"That is not the point! Now you are just being difficult. Can't you approach this logically? "he sputtered in aggravation. He was at the boiling point.

"I am. But not everything can be distilled down to mere fact. Sometimes emotions play a part too! You can't always run away from your emotions. Speaking of which, when will we start a family, hmm, Martin? You know that I've always wanted children," she countered.

Martin blanched. This subject had been a sore spot during their engagement, remaining unresolved. He wasn't anxious for this grenade to be lobbed once more, especially in the volatile atmosphere of the moment Louisa saw the colour draining from his face and rolled her eyes. No point in having that discussion today.

X X X X X X

This wasn't getting them anywhere. They both realized it. But they could not run away. She would not be pushed into a life she did not want. He would not be persuaded to stay as the local GP.

They sat in silence, gathering their thoughts, cooling their tempers, swallowing the harsh words they wanted to shout at each other. Louisa remembered her lonely days in London, the hope of the past three weeks, the intimacy of this weekend. She reviewed Lindsay's last piece of advice to her before leaving on holiday. Lindsay had said, "Don't just listen for what you want to hear, hear the words he is actually saying to you."

Martin heeded Dr. Travers' warnings from their last session. Clearly Louisa wasn't interested in the type of life he was offering her; maybe he had assumed too much. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. His mother had never seemed happy no matter how many expensive holidays, clothes, cars or jewelry his father had bought her. Louisa, fortunately, was nothing like his mother, so why treat her in the same fashion? But he did not know how to treat her.

"Um …," he hesitated and started again. "What is it you want to do?" he said tentatively.

"I love teaching. I love being with children. I enjoy being an administrator, being part of the bigger picture, effecting change through programs and policy."

He shook his head. "I am confused. You told me you don't like teaching at Tarlington Hall."

"No, I didn't. I said that I didn't feel as fulfilled there as I did as Head Teacher at Port Wenn Primary but I still enjoy teaching. The school is very well funded so there isn't the constant struggle to pay for supplies or field trips or anything. It's the parents I don't like, putting such pressure on their daughters to overachieve or to mold themselves into socialites-in-waiting. Most of the staff is not much better and the backbiting is awful."

"So you want to continue teaching, regardless?" Maybe he hadn't understood the depth of her passion for her profession. Maybe he had been blind to the fact that, like him, she felt it was part of her purpose in life.

"Yes, most definitely." She calmed down. Maybe she hadn't explained herself well enough before. Maybe he was offering her his vision, however erroneous, of what he thought would make her happy.

Silence ensued once more as they digested what this meant.

"You could teach in Liverpool," Martin said hesitantly, trying to ascertain whether this would please her.

"I could but you are only planning on staying there a couple of years, right?"

He nodded his head. He was puzzled again. Was she rejecting this olive branch, this concession?

"The assistant deputy head's position is going to be vacant by then. I want to try for it, if I have to remain in London. Leaving for two years would jeopardize that."

"Oh. I see," he mumbled sadly. Apparently she had already made up her mind not to come with him. Perhaps this was goodbye. He felt the prick of tears and his throat thicken.

"But that isn't what I really want either." The moment had come for her to tell him her vision of their future. Lindsay had wanted her to do it two weeks ago, avoiding false expectations and unrealistic dreams down the road.

"What then?" He felt the misery creep into his heart. His plans were crumbling about him.

"What I really want … ah … ". She gulped and steeled herself. "It's to return home, to teach again at Port Wenn Primary, to become a member of this community once more and … "

"Oh." He was absolutely downcast. "I don't suppose it would make you any more amenable to Liverpool if we were married?"

She smiled sadly and looked away for a moment. "No. I don't think we're ready for that step yet. Marriage doesn't magically solve everything, erase all the problems. I want to be with you, married or not. If or when we marry, I hope it will be a legal formalization of what we are already, what we have become together. Right now we have much to resolve; I'm deeply committed to doing that."

He would not admit it aloud but he was mildly relieved. As much as he hoped to marry her one day, he too felt unready. He did not want a life full of the constant skirmishes and battles he had witnessed as a young boy.

"Then what do we do? What do I do? Give up Liverpool?" Was it truly worth a lifetime without her?

"Absolutely not. No, go to the interview and give it your best shot. I sincerely hope they choose you. If you stay here as Port Wenn's GP only because you want to please me then you will only come to resent me. I couldn't bear that. We should both be prepared to make compromises for one another, not sacrifices."

"So what will you do? Move back here?" All at once he was relieved and despairing.

She shook her head. "Not right away. If you are in Liverpool, I don't won't to be that far away from you."

His head rose from its place of anguish in his hands. He looked at her with a brightened face. This was the first hopeful thing he had heard from her in the past half hour. A small smile curled his lips. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. There might be possibilities arising here in the future; I had lunch with Stu McKenzie on Thursday. But I don't want to lose you. My contract's been renewed at Tarlington Hall for another year. So there I will stay. We could see each other on the weekends."

"It's only a two hour train ride to Liverpool from London, from Euston Station." He smiled weakly. "Another fact. Sometimes they are useful."

She watched as relief transformed his face. He had taken her news better than she had anticipated. Nine months ago he would have railed against her, overbearing and adamant, refusing to concede to alter his plans for her. She gave him a broad smile, loving and liking him immensely.

"Do you think there is enough room on this couch for you to sit beside me?" she asked.

"No, not with you stretched out like that and your foot elevated on those pillows."

"Oh, too bad." She sounded disappointed.

"Why, are you in need of something?" Concern rose in his voice. He had forgotten that she was still in discomfort, her ankle still bruised and slightly swollen. "I can kneel on the floor beside you, if you need me too."

"Good. Come here. I need to hug you." She opened her arms to him and he came willingly towards them.

X X X X X X

Dinner was a quiet and contented affair. Having thoroughly talked themselves out, they were both, frankly, exhausted. Although uncertainty loomed about the future, both Martin and Louisa felt the serene satisfaction and accomplishment of having successfully navigated themselves through a potential minefield which, had it blown up, might have permanently ended their relationship.

He refused to leave until she was settled in bed for the night. He wouldn't see her again until she picked him up from the train station on Friday.

Once again she asked him to sit beside her on the duvet. "Martin, I know I told you things today that you didn't want to hear, that gave you pain. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. That wasn't my intention but we need to be clear and honest with each other otherwise this relationship is never going to work."

He nodded, still disappointed that they would remain apart.

There was a resolute gleam in her eyes as she grasped his head in her hands and searched his face. "We will work things out. Promise me that we will keep talking. Okay?"

"Yes."

She drew his face towards her own, pressed her lips onto his, kissing him slowly. He responded gently at first until she deepened the kiss then his arms were about her waist, holding her in a fierce embrace. He resolved never to let her go.

Eventually she pulled back to stare into his eyes. "Everything will be alright, Martin," she uttered, more hopeful than confidant. "Now go home and prepare for that interview."

He did as he was told.

X X X X X X

To be continued tomorrow …


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty One

Martin looked once more at both ends of the railway platform but she did not appear. He checked his wristwatch again. 6:45. His train had arrived seven minutes late. He felt mildly deflated; he had been so looking forward to seeing her.

On the long journey back he had the strangest sensation. All his life he had run away from things: his cold and distant parents, the bullies at school, emotions, rejections, dashed hopes. It seemed he was always stepping backwards, out of the way, hiding. This day as the train took him ever closer to Port Wenn he felt that he was moving forward, both literally and metaphorically.

Much as he had enjoyed his childhood summers with Joan and Phil, they had always been tinged with the anxiety of knowing they were only temporary reprieves. Today he felt only curiously eager. He realized that it was the anticipation of coming back to a woman who loved him and was just as eagerly awaiting his return.

He pulled out his mobile and checked again for messages. Nothing. He had sent her an email this morning confirming his arrival time and she had responded that she would be there. As he raised his head from the screen he saw her rushing towards him; beaming, beautiful, apologetic.

"Martin, I'm so sorry. There's construction on the Bodmin Parkway. Traffic's been backed up for a half hour. I was going to call you."

By this time she had reached him and in an unplanned rush of affection, given licence by the hurried welcome, placed a hand on his shoulder, reached up in her high heeled shoes and pecked his check. Martin, given no time to think, responded by placing his arm tightly around her shoulders and kissing her back. For a brief moment they remained that way, absorbing the nearness. Louisa forgot what she had planned to say, content to lightly nuzzle his cheek with her own. Martin's arm instinctively pressed more tightly around her upper back.

He grew conscious of his surroundings, remembering they were in a public place and swiftly removed his arm. Feeling him stiffen into his formalized self once again, Louisa stepped backwards away from him. Stealing a quick glance into his eyes before his face rearranged itself into his usual public mask of disdain; she caught a fleeting expression of contentment and warmth. It flooded her with joy.

"Let's go." She surveyed his pale face and the slight wrinkles in his suit. "Long trip? You look a bit worn out."

"Two days of train travel, even in first class, with annoying, noisy passengers. Yes, it was rather wearing. I suppose flying might have been faster but this way I got caught up on reading using my laptop."

He did not want to tell her that he had needed the extra time to prepare for his day of interviews. Cooking, cleaning and caring for Louisa last weekend had taken up practically all his free time. Had she known, she would never have let him do it. She had friends who had been willing to help out.

"But yesterday, it went well?" she asked anxiously. She hadn't spoken with him while he was away. She wanted him to be completely free of any pressure from her, real or imagined. He had to make his own decisions. They began walking to her car.

"The interviews went satisfactorily. They are definitely interested. My surgical reputation preceded me. However, there are two other highly qualified candidates. The Head of Vascular and the Head of Human Resources insisted on taking me out to dinner last night. I met with a representative from the drug company as well. I have to admit that I enjoyed being back on a surgical ward again."

He seemed reticent to say more. They had reached the car already. She decided not to press him. Whatever he wanted to tell her would come out in time. For now she simply appreciated being with him again. Her time in Port Wenn was growing short.

They were halfway to Port Wenn before he spoke next. His voice was formal and constrained. "Do you have dinner plans for tomorrow night?"

She was slightly disappointed. After everything that had transpired between them these past four weeks, how could he still question whether she would have made plans for this weekend without first consulting him?

Keeping her eyes focused on the curving road and her hands tightly on the wheel, she answered him truthfully," No, Martin. I hoped that we would have dinner tomorrow evening. Remember that I will be away part of next week visiting friends in Exeter. But if you are too tired then I completely understand."

Martin shifted slightly to look at her, conscious and appreciative of the bucket seats in Caroline Bosman's subcompact sedan. "No, no. Dinner would be good. Would you rather go out?"

"No." Couldn't he feel that she wanted to be alone with him again? They hadn't seen each other in almost a week.

With Louisa concentrating on the road he was afforded the unobserved opportunity to survey her shapely thighs, knees and calves stretching out from underneath her pleated summer skirt.

"If we are going to eat in, I would like to invite you to my home. We always eat at the Bosmans'. It's not fair to you."

Lovely idea. However she was concerned that a strange car parked in Martin's driveway for the evening or perhaps the entire night, might foment gossip amongst nosy villagers. They had so far succeeded in keeping their reconciliation a secret.

She took her eyes momentarily off the road to give him a beguiling smile. "Thank you. Why don't we save that for another time?"

"But I would like to cook for you. To thank you for picking me up today."

"Martin, you looked after me all of last weekend. You've had a hectic week. If anyone here should be grateful, it should be me. Please, let me cook for you. Besides, all those cooking tips you've been giving me these past four weeks, isn't it time that I put them to the test?"

She wondered if he even had half a clue that she was flirting with him? It had been so long since she had done that. Perhaps she was out of practice. Martin had never been good at picking up her signals.

"If that is what you want. At least let me make the dessert. Would you mind if we stopped at the large grocery store on the way back to the village? I'm out of milk and bread and I'd rather not have to walk down to the village shops tonight."

"Of course. I'll pick up some things for tomorrow's dinner."

X X X X X X

As they strolled the aisles of the busy Tesco's together, Louisa was surprised to find how intimate that act could be. Here they were, amidst the height of the Friday evening rush of shoppers, the two of them companionably walking through the aisles together, discussing the freshness of produce and cuts of meat, oblivious to the crush and noise around them, like any self-absorbed couple.

She was aware that whenever she walked ahead of him to examine an item on a nearby shelf, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. A few minutes earlier, when she had stretched up on tip toes to reach a high shelf, she was almost certain she could feel his burning gaze before he rushed to take down the bottle of mustard for her. When she had thanked him for his chivalry she saw that the tips of his ears were red. He covered up the moment by inquiring about her ankle, noting that the discolouration and swelling had fully disappeared.

There was a definite alteration in his behaviour towards her, no mistaking it. Whether it was because of the events of last weekend or something else, she could not as yet fathom. Likely she would find out tomorrow evening.

They talked little for the remainder of the journey, both lost in their own thoughts, content simply to be in each other's presence once again. After she helped him inside with the shopping bags and he attended to his luggage, they stood awkwardly in his kitchen. She could see how tired he was.

"I should pop off. Time to go home to feed Byron and plan tomorrow's dinner. I want to do you proud."

"You always do."

A rare compliment indeed. She bit her lip, feeling once more that surge of elation. "Thank you, Martin. I hope not to let you down."

"You won't. Perhaps we could talk tomorrow night about the job interview? I'm a bit knackered from the trip."

"Of course. I'll go. Don't imagine there is much to tell anyway until the hospital makes its decision."

She reached up to brush her lips gently against his. She lingered briefly, feeling the caress of one strong hand firmly down the small of her back. Shuddering with pleasure, she savoured the moment. He heard the sharp intake of her breath. Without looking up again at his face, she withdrew slowly, afraid that he would be frightened off by the intensity of the moment. Without glancing back, she turned to leave.

Suddenly he grasped her wrist. "Wait!" he commanded. "I need to tell you something first. It's not fair to make you wait until tomorrow."

X X X X X X

"What?" she questioned him, alarm evident in her voice. His hand still tightly held her wrist.

"It's about the interviews."

"Yes? Did something go wrong?" She knew his brusque manner won him no friends.

"No. I did quite a bit of thinking after our talk last Sunday." He released her wrist. They stood facing each other.

She crossed her arms in a gesture of self-protection, steeling herself, anticipating the bad news that must be forthcoming. "And – "

"I made a counter proposal to the interview committee."

"What!"

"I told them that I would be more interested in the position if they made it a one year contract with an option to renew. It wasn't compulsory to offer me a long term position on the vascular surgical staff following the completion of the research project."

"Wait. I don't understand. I thought that was part of the reason for you wanting the position. To get a couple years of surgery under your belt so that the major London hospitals would be interested in hiring you again."

"Yes, that's so."

"Why deliberately give that up?"

"Because of you. It's not fair to make you wait alone in London or elsewhere, in limbo, for two or three years until I know my career path."

"But this might jeopardize your chances of winning the position in Liverpool and quite possibly your future at Imperial or ."

"Quite probably the top London hospitals, not necessarily Liverpool. The drug company is only funding the surgical position for the twelve to fifteen months of the research project. After that the Royal Liverpool has to fund the position; hospital budgets are tight in this economy. They found my proposal intriguing and palatable to their bottom line. I would still participate in all the research, surgical testing and the writing up of the results in a monograph. I just wouldn't resume normal surgical duties afterwards."

She was shocked. "Won't you be unemployed after a year?"

"Probably. I called Chris Parsons before I left. He would be prepared to search for someone to do a twelve to sixteen month locum down here. That's not so difficult. It isn't easy finding someone to come permanently to a small village and practice alone. Likely the opening would attract a new medical school graduate looking for some initial experience before heading off to a less isolating job in a city".

"Ah. So you might consider coming back to Port Wenn?"

"The posting wouldn't become permanent until after that, meaning that I could keep my options open about returning here as a GP."

She was speechless.

"Not that I want you to get your hopes up, Louisa. I meant what I said about not returning here or returning to general practice again. Dr. Travers suggested that I use the year to think about what I most liked about practicing medicine and what I want to pursue. I intend to do just that. But I also have to think about what you want."

"Martin, are you certain you want to do this?"

"If you are prepared to stay in London next year and to travel back and forth to be with me then I should be prepared to think about other options too. Perhaps we will have decided by next year that we want to stay in London or Liverpool permanently."

He took a deep breath. Concession and compromise were new and alien to him.

"Louisa, if you truly still have your heart set on returning to Port Wenn I would consider looking for a surgical post in Cornwall, Dorset or Devon. Somewhere that I could commute to and return home for the weekends, if necessary. Or if I truly dislike performing surgery again, I would consider taking up the GP's position again myself. We'll see in time."

Tears were streaming down her face. She knew now that he cared enough about her to do it and that he understood she was remaining in London for him. She wasn't looking for sweeping romantic gestures; she wanted realistic solutions and practical choices that would help them forge a life together and he was offering that.

He gently lifted her chin with his hand until she looked him directly in the eyes. "No promises. And I have to be offered the position in Liverpool first. Would this make you happy?"

"Yes. Very much so. Thank you." She put her arms around his neck. They stood quietly together, holding each other, until his embarrassment at her sobbing grew too much for him to bear.

Pulling herself together, she turned to go. Her hand on the doorknob, her voice husky with anticipation, she whispered "Tomorrow night then."

She crossed the threshold and was gone.

X X X X X X

To be continued on New Year's Day ….

Wishing you all happy New Year's Eve celebrations. This chapter will be completed tomorrow.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty Two

Author's note: Wishing all the readers and writers around the world a 2012 filled with peace, happiness and good health.

And now, a joyous chapter to ring in the New Year ….

Louisa took great care preparing her body for, she hoped, close inspection later that evening by Martin. Finally satisfied that she was well cleaned, lotioned and polished, she went downstairs to continue the dinner preparations. All morning she had debated with herself whether she should have them eat by candlelight accompanied by soft music. Yes, this would create a romantic ambiance but would that telegraphed expectation frighten off Martin? Could it be that he wasn't ready? She was.

Too late she realized that she had spent an exorbitant amount of time on herself and the contrived romantic ambiance and not enough time on the food preparations. After she had finished setting the dinner table three different ways until it finally met her approval, tossing the salad and chopping the vegetables for the salsa, it was almost six o'clock. Her insecurity over her appearance induced her to dash upstairs one more time to apply another layer of lip gloss and to repin her pony tail. Coming down the staircase she heard the anticipated knock at the back door.

"Good evening, Martin".

It was a good omen she figured; he wasn't wearing a tie tonight and shortly after entering he took off his suit jacket and hung it in the hall closet. These actions might be attributed to the warmth of this second last night in July but Louisa doubted it.

With him in tow, she took the angel cake and fruit cup he had made and placed them in the refrigerator for later. Seeing that dinner preparations were still in full swing, he volunteered his services.

"You could finish laying out the ingredients for the soufflé. I'll just give this salsa one last taste."

He appeared more awkward and fidgety than usual this evening, his conversation more stilted, he avoided eye contact. This puzzled her. She had figured they would finally make love tonight. Now she wasn't so positive. They worked in silence at their separate tasks, affording Louisa the opportunity to assess what was transpiring. Surely Martin couldn't be embarrassed to be alone with her after all this time? Judging by the way he looked at her in Tesco's last evening, his hopes for tonight surely mirrored her own.

Between the adding of more chives and the chopped coriander, she experienced a flash of insight. Martin had never been one to initiate sexual advances towards her. It was she who was required to take on the role of seducer. Not that she minded; she was good at it and Martin more than upheld his end of the bargain once things got started. Perhaps one day he might take the lead; likely not this minute. It was time for her to take the reins in hand.

Louisa dipped a tablespoon into the mixing bowl and removed a full scoop of salsa.

"Martin, I'm not sure if the salsa requires a little more fennel or lemon juice. You are better at judging these things than I. Would you mind having a taste?"

As he moved from his work station towards her, she put the spoon to her lips and consumed half its contents. "Not bad. What do you think?"

She turned the bowl of the spoon towards his face and reached up, ready to feed him its contents. She wondered whether Martin would properly interpret the gesture's seductive nature or view it only for its lack of hygiene. Either way would give her an indication of where this evening was heading.

Martin swallowed the bait, accepting the bowl of the spoon into his mouth, fresh from hers. A bead of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

Not looking directly at her, he replied gruffly, "Needs an eighth of a teaspoon more lemon juice." The tips of his ears went crimson.

"Thank you. Wait a second. You've got a little salsa on your chin." She licked her middle finger and languidly rubbed his chin with it. "There. All gone."

Martin coughed then resumed preparing the soufflé slated to be their main course. The vegetables were already sautéed. He heated the butter then began slowly stirring in the flour. He was ready to whisk in the milk. Louisa came over to stand by him.

"Let me do the rest. It's rather presumptuous on my part to allow my dinner guest to prepare most of his meal." She grinned up at him. There was the glint of a smile on his face as he moved away from the pot.

She did a poor job whisking the milk, partly from inexperience and partly because her mind was elsewhere. Martin, anxious not to start a quarrel, said nothing, occuping himself instead with finishing the contents for the soufflé base. He separated the eggs for her with the deft precision of the surgeon he was. She marveled how a man with such large hands could perform so well the subtlest of movements. She forgot to time the one minute of whisking required to smooth and thicken the mixture.

She beat the egg yolks together and stirred them into the mixture. She began to do the same with the egg whites until Martin could restrain himself no longer.

"No, Louisa, not like that. Your movement is much too harsh. You are not allowing enough air into the mixture. The soufflé will only fall flat in the oven if you continue to stir like that." His tone contained none of its usual dictatorial arrogance. It was, in fact, surprisingly gentle.

"This is my first try at making a soufflé. Perhaps it was too ambitious for tonight. I should have practiced first rather than making you my unwitting guinea pig."

"It's alright. Just try to fold in the egg whites instead of beating them. This dish isn't meant to be scrambled eggs."

"Folding? Is that different from stirring?"

"Would you like me to do it for you?"

"No, Martin. I always tell my students that there is no value in having someone always doing things for you. You have got to learn to do things for yourself to be independent in life. So why don't you teach me how to fold properly?"

"Alright. Pass me that rubber spatula and I will give you a demonstration."

"No. Teach me."

"Can't you just watch me" He was impatient.

"Look. How about you give me a brief demonstration? Afterwards I'll take over and you can correct any errors you observe in my technique, okay?" Exactly as she would have explained to her students. Teaching Martin wasn't much different.

"Fine." He took the spatula from her hand and performed the demonstration. "You try now. Stand directly over the pot."

Louisa tried to fold but her motions still came out more as a stir.

"No. Be gentler. Fold more in a circular motion. No, you need to fold more down one side of the bowl and up through the centre. No, no. Turn the bowl slightly after making the folding motion."

He was growing more frustrated as she failed to get the movement just right. She wouldn't make much of a surgeon. Best to take matters in hand. He moved close behind her. He placed his hand over hers. She was astonished, having expected him to berate her ineptitude. He didn't. Instead he began lightly guiding her hand to move the spatula in ever gentler circular patterns.

"No," he said more to himself than her. "That angle's not quite right. It's my fault, I'm making your movements clumsy. It's the way I'm standing."

Absorbed in getting her motion perfect, he moved closer. His torso pressed into hers. To steady himself he placed his left hand on her hip. Finding that unsatisfactory, he moved it to circle round to her front and found a happy resting place on top of her flat stomach. His right hand covered hers as they continued turning the spatula in ever slower, wider circles.

Louisa forgot all about the cooking lesson. She was no longer certain who was seducing who. She gave in to the moment, allowing herself to luxuriate in the slight rythmic sway of their bodies. She leant back into him. The top of her hair nestled just under his chin. He breathed in deeply the scent of her shampoo, burrowing his nose closer. They were interrupted by a mild burning smell. They had been stirring the mixture so slowly it had begun to burn.

Martin, his sense of smell more acute than hers, noticed it first and moved away quickly to pick up a large wooden spoon to repair the damage. The eroticism of the previous minutes passed but was not forgotten.

He cleared his throat. "Why not let me finish this and get it into the oven before it ends up as burnt scrambled eggs?"

Louisa fixed her hair. "Um …. Brilliant. I'll sear the scallops for the salsa."

She wiped the perspiration away from her face. Covering the six scallops with fennel, coriander and black pepper, she seared them in the skillet for five minutes. By this time Martin had the soufflé safely ensconced in its dish in the cooker.

"It should only take thirty minutes," he said, wiping his hands on the towel.

They sat down to start their meal. It turned out nothing like Louisa had calculated. It was too early to light the candles on the table, the sun wasn't down yet. She had forgotten to put on the romantic CD she had specially selected. Martin had requested that the bouquet of flowers she placed on the table be removed after he had spotted an ant crawling on the leaves.

The salsa tasted too bitter because Louisa's mind had been elsewhere when she added in the quarter teaspoon of lemon juice instead of the eighth of a teaspoon Martin had recommended. The scallops which lay under the bed of salsa for their appetizers, were rubbery and overcooked because by that point in the evening she could care less about cooking. At least the salad, prepared beforehand, was edible.

Conversation was stilted. They both took frequent sips of their respective beverages to quell their dried throats. Reprieve came when the timer for the aga went off. Martin took the soufflé out. It had fallen. The exterior was burnt; the interior runny. He had mistakenly turned the heat on too high, his mind on other things.

Louisa laughed, apologized for what was possibly the worst meal she had ever served him and for ruining his evening.

They stood staring at the inedible soufflé. "Never mind. There's always dessert, "she said.

He looked down at her and ran his finger along her cheek. "You didn't ruin my evening. Far from it."

She locked eyes with him. "How about dessert then?" She took his hand.

"Right. I'll get the cake and fruit cup out of the refrigerator."

She shook her head. "No. No, that can wait until later. I meant another kind of dessert."

She pulled him away from the cooker and out of the kitchen. When they reached the staircase he finally understood. She mounted one step, stopped and turned round. They were almost face to face. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other behind his head and kissed him long and hard. As they entered her bedroom, he stopped just inside the doorway.

Her hand was still inside his and his abrupt halt jarred her. "What?" For a moment she was afraid she had misread his signals and he didn't want her.

Instead she felt herself lifted straight up in the air. His arms rested beneath her hips. She steadied herself by clasping onto his broad shoulders. Her lips were level with his cropped hair. Letting out a soft moan, she kissed the top of his head. "My love," she whispered to him.

He couldn't see. His face was buried in her shoulders and chest. But he knew his way to her bed, having been a welcome visitor there last weekend. He placed her gently onto the duvet and then lowered himself slowly on top of her.

Everything else was forgotten for a time and all they knew was each other.

X X X X X X

Louisa, naked, lay stretched full out on top of Martin. Her thighs pressed against his, her toes resting downwards on the mattress between the spaces of his slightly splayed calves. Her arms were folded across his broad chest, elbows touching his sides. Her chin rested juxtaposed between her flattened hands. Her face tilted upright so she could observe him.

"I love you, you know. With all my heart and soul. Of all the things I liked least these past months, it was being parted from you. I was so lonely for you."

There. She had finally said it. She had chosen the timing and the wording with great care. Their lovemaking only two hours previous had been frantic, heated and over quickly because their pent-up desires had dictated that it could not be otherwise. They had dozed afterwards, less from the exertion of the sexual act although it had been strenuous and physically intense but more from the need to share the intimacy of sleep and a shared bed again.

Now that they were both wide awake and as Martin showed no signs of bolting, Louisa felt it time to test the waters. She did not want to misinterpret what had just transpired between them. What had been a wholehearted giving of herself to him and a hedonistic taking of pleasure in his body, signaled to her the rekindling of their physical relationship and thus her unreserved commitment to becoming his partner.

It had been a full thirty seconds since she had uttered the words. Martin remained mute. If his verbal cues revealed nothing, she would take stock of the physical ones he emitted. She was encouraged by the knowledge that the body lying underneath hers had neither shifted nor clenched its muscles. His breathing continued deep and even, only slightly laboured by the weight of her face, arms and chest upon him.

She was startled by the clearing of his throat. He kept staring at the ceiling, the words came out so quietly that they would have been inaudible had she not been lying directly on top of him.

"Me as well."

The hands resting on her hips began traveling in opposite directions. One glided upwards to her shoulder blades. The other moved downwards, caressing her slowly.

These three words were what she had waited all these weeks to hear. Maybe he could not muster the courage to mirror her actual words but she was certain now that he did feel them. It filled her with an unrestrained torrent of love for him. Pushing her body upwards until her face was directly above his, she balanced her hands on the pillow, one hand on either side of his shoulders. Slowly she lowered herself down to kiss him fully on the lips.

Their lovemaking was different this time. Slow, deliberate, sensual gestures meant to convey mutual forgiveness, comfort, peace. A washing away of the intense pain they had caused each other months ago. A balm to loneliness and longing. The sealing of an unspoken pact on both their parts, a resolving to be together, at least emotionally, if not geographically.

X X X X X

This chapter marks the conclusion of Part Two. Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. It is a pleasure to write for you.

As it is New Year's Day, this author makes a resolution to start Part Three of Resolutions later this winter.

Will Martin go to Liverpool? If so, will he keep his promise to Louisa to look elsewhere for work? Will Louisa inch further towards her goal of returning to Port Wenn? What about the prospect of children? How will their relationship fare living in different cities? What happens when Louisa requests her own session with Dr. Travers? What makes the normally calm Lindsay angry enough to have a showdown with Martin?


	33. Chapter 33

Resolutions: Part Three

Disclaimer: "Doc Martin" is the property of Buffalo Pictures.

Happy Valentine's Day to all the romantics out there!

Chapter Thirty- Three

Martin Ellingham was deeply in love and it did not make him happy. For a lifetime, sometimes consciously, sometimes without cognitive awareness, he had constructed an ever higher, ever thicker dam to block the outward flow of his suppressed emotions. Behind the impervious dam lay the deep and murky reservoir of shelved feelings, unwanted sensations and unexplored thoughts. Rarely had hairline cracks or fissures appeared in the structure. When they did, such as in the case of his haemophobia or his non-wedding, he had done his utmost best to speedily repair and caulk the damage, cutting off the tide, limiting the seepage.

The difficulty posed by these past nine months was that his emotional turmoil had sharply intensified, causing the rising pool of emotions to churn and bubble. The sheer force and potency threatened to surge through or boil over that normally impervious structure. These last five weeks with Louisa, while they toiled to salvage their precarious relationship, had done nothing to quiet the frothing waters.

Last weekend, when they both recognized that they were ready to renew their commitment to each other and had made love to seal the pact, Martin's emotions had splashed mightily against the damn wall. Large cracks had formed. Emotions were bursting forth all over.

That he had been in love with Louisa Glasson from the first day he met her, was never in dispute. But this was different. Having spent much of the past month continuously alone in her company, he felt he had begun to truly know her. To be even more certain, to have confirmed, that the Louisa he had known mostly through interrupted dates, brief street side conversations, medical emergencies and frequent arguments, was the person with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

Disconcertingly, he had been unable to harness the power of his emotions behind this dam of repression. It left him disquieted, helpless and out of control. When she had left on Tuesday morning to spend three and a half days with a friend in Exeter, he had worried about her arriving there safely despite the roads and the weather being clear and Louisa being an excellent driver.

He was bereft without her. Missed being able to pick up his mobile to call her, missed sharing a meal with her, missed the warmth and comfort of her body beside him in bed. His exaltation upon receiving the news that he had won the surgical post at the Royal Liverpool had been muted by her absence. His heart had fluttered in his chest on Monday when he had seen her at a distance, on the street, talking to a parent. On impulse he had given her a brief wave and flashed a smile before he could restrain himself. He had inwardly rejoiced upon greeting her today, knowing that after her four day absence, her attention would be exclusively devoted to him.

As he sat beside her on the hard, wooden pew inside the old Padstow church, he allowed the swelling, rapturous notes of Antonio Vivaldi's Summer from The Four Seasons to soothe the anxieties of his heart. His hand, resting palm down on the pew was unexpectedly stroked. He felt his fingers being intertwined with hers. She did not look up at him; her eyes were closed, enjoying the baroque resonance. Taking this opportunity to inspect her unobserved, he thought she had never looked more content.

X X X X X

Louisa Glasson was deeply in love and had not been happier for many months. She had, quite possibly, gained all of the considerable confidence Martin had lost. It was not that she felt fully secure about their future; far from it. For today however, she had banished all the anxieties, uneasiness and anguish and had resolved to simply enjoy the beautiful early August day, the exuberant music, the superb acoustics in the stone church and the company of the man she adored. She felt she had reclaimed the part of herself that had been missing these past nine months; that the shattered pieces of their broken relationship had been repaired and refitted back together, that where there had once been acrimony now there was alchemy.

Well aware that Martin was not keen on public displays of affection, she willed herself not to touch him until she saw his hand slide down from his thigh onto the hidden wooden space between them. Knowing that no one else could see, she gently intertwined her fingers with his, closing her eyes to fully enjoy the joint sensation of the musical flourishes and the subtle touch of her lover's skin.

X X X X X

After the final applause died down, Louisa glanced at her watch: three-forty-five. Much too soon to head over to the restaurant despite their early reservation. Martin, she knew, had taken considerable trouble choosing where they should eat. Despite her numerous protestations, he insisted that he was to pay for every part of their date.

She had not been surprised by his choice of Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant in Padstow: sophisticated ambience, crisp white table cloths, creative first courses, simple salads, stylishly prepared wild seafood dishes. She felt herself lusting for the Hot Chocolate Fondant with Pistachio Ice Cream and Crème Anglaise. She was surprised though that Martin had been able to snag a reservation for an early Saturday evening in a summer replete with tourists. A reservation typically meant a wait of four months. She could not know that Martin had come to the aid in June of a diabetic cousin of the restaurant's grateful executive chef.

She was amazed when Martin suggested that next they drive over to Prideaux Place, the Elizabethan family home just above Padstow. The exquisite late sixteenth century home, built with several additions over the centuries, had recently rediscovered and restored its formal gardens.

Martin explained that by the time they arrived, the ubiquitous buses stuffed with obnoxious tourists would have left for their next destination. He was correct of course, having meticulously gauged his timing to coincide with the closing of the house and the tearoom for the day, leaving only the Deer Park and the gardens open for another hour to welcome the remaining stragglers.

Seeing Louisa's difficulty navigating the gravel paths of the garden in her high heeled black leather sandals, he gallantly offered her his arm. She gladly accepted. He heard the swish of her light purple crepe dress as it brushed up against his suit. He could not know how much time or money she had spent choosing it in a fashionable dress shop in Exeter.

"So what did you think of the concert?"

"Quite good. Not up to the concerts we will attend in London or Liverpool of course but passable. Wish they could have come up with something less overplayed than The Four Seasons."

"Is Baroque your favourite type of classical music?" She was beginning to realize how little she actually knew of Martin's interests.

"Yes. Baroque is well constructed in its melody, avoids the trivialities and if the workmanship is first rate, moves in a naturally ordered way towards its conclusion. I will take you to hear some of the best baroque musicians when they play London."

Louisa smiled. Just like Martin, avoiding life's whims when possible, demanding perfection in his work and everything organized to reflect a well controlled universe. Then she sighed. A pall had been cast over what otherwise had been a brilliant afternoon. London. Why did he have to mention it again?

Sensing her displeasure but not understanding the reason, he suggested they sit down on the wooden bench nearby. He had carefully steered them towards the deserted part of the garden. They were quite alone.

"Have I said something to displease you?"

"No, Martin. It's just that you reminded me of how little time I have left in Port Wenn. These past five weeks have passed so quickly. Tom and Caroline will be home from their California trip next Saturday."

"Do you have to return to London right away?"

"No. I was thinking of staying with Lindsay for a couple of days first although I know she's busy working on a paper. I have to be back in London by the 20th at the latest. There's a senior staff planning meeting I must attend on the 22nd."

"Right." Martin brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his suit jacket. "Why not stay with me instead? Come on Saturday once you've finished at the Bosmans'. I could drive you up to London mid-week. Perhaps on the Thursday I could take the train up to Liverpool for the day. There are some final details to thrash out regarding my appointment. Then we could have Friday and most of the weekend together."

Clearly he had given this considerable thought. A carefully planned offer: practical, useful to them both. The subtext was more complex. Staying at his cottage was a blaring announcement to Port Wenn that they were together again. For the past five weeks they had met behind closed doors and hidden restaurants. Louisa was well aware of the whispers and speculation; neither had she, Joan or Lindsay breathed a word. Martin, with his oversensitive nature would likely bear the brunt of the teasing and taunts. She could not imagine what the marauding pack of teenage girls would shout at him.

She also understood that this was his way of extending his time alone with her before they went their separate ways again. She was pleased and gratified beyond measure. They were a real couple once more.

"I'd like that, Martin. Thank you. Frankly I'm not looking forward to leaving Port Wenn behind."

"Yes, well … you do have another ten days."

"Uh huh. I should stop this moaning and enjoy myself. Speaking of which, you are staying with me tonight, aren't you?"

Martin, turning a pale shade of red, responded, "I sort of assumed I would be."

Louisa smiled at the promise of what was to come. "Good."

"Good."

They sat side by side in silence, enjoying the beauty of the garden and their idyllic day. Martin finally roused himself, remembering for what purpose he had brought her here. He put his hand inside his suit jacket, hesitated then removed it again. This was a daft idea. He would only embarrass himself. Had his reason and rationality completely evaporated these last few days?

In spite of his castigations, his hand, seemingly of its own volition, traveled back inside his jacket to his breast pocket until it touched the blunt edges of the envelope. Perhaps she would laugh at him? Reason trumped instinct once again, an Ellingham trait.

He withdrew his hand.

X X X X X X

To be continued this Saturday …


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty Four

Martin realized that Louisa was staring at him.

"Everything all right? Did you forget your handkerchief? I have some tissues in my purse."

"Ah … no. I've got one, thank you." He would have to say something now, having just admitted that he had a handkerchief. There were not many other excuses to come up with for fumbling in his pockets in the middle of a reconstructed historic garden on a Saturday afternoon. It was not as if his mobile had just rung.

With resignation he took the crisp yellow envelope out of his pocket. He turned slightly to face her, could not meet her eyes, stared at her sandals instead and mumbled, "For you. You seem to … appreciate … cards."

"Martin." Could this date get any better?

He sat there frozen; the card remained gripped between his perspiring finger tips. She placed her thumb and two slender fingers around the opposite edge.

"Shall I open it now?" She asked gently, aware of his reticence, not wanting to pry it out of his reluctant hand. "Or would you prefer I wait until later?"

Martin cleared his throat. He was of the school of thought that believed a plaster should be removed swiftly, getting the pain over with in one rapid gesture. No point prolonging the anguish. He looked so miserable that Louisa began to wonder if bad news lay inside the yellow missive.

He muttered, "Now" and hesitantly released his vice-like grip.

Her curiousity got the better of her. She ripped open the envelope, roughly tearing the edges. Out fell a thick yellow note card with deckled edges and a watermark. Opening it she saw a poem several stanzas long. Her eyes opened wide. She said nothing, glanced up briefly at him quizzically before turning back, fascinated, to the tightly handwritten words.

"Maybe it was a silly idea of mine. Poetry is sentimental drivel –"

"Shut up, Martin and let me read, please." This seemed so out of character for him; she never would have imagined it. She turned her attention fully back to reading:

For Louisa,

Somewhere I have never traveled before

Is the place where you have transported me.

To where my heart ascends, my voice hums.

Bliss. My thoughts gladly lie tranquil.

My clumsy hand clasped hard to your sure one,

You guide me through this euphoric land.

To where I may nestle my wretched head

Between the twins of your comfort and care

And unchain from the palls of past and pain.

Somewhere unforeseen this is,

Somewhere virgin amongst my hard travels.

Without you I would never sojourn here,

Never unearth this blessed serenity.

You lead me, my heart wrapped in yours,

My soul clinging to yours.

And I, newly planted in this rich soil, rejoice.

Yours, Martin

Louisa brushed back a tear, conscious of not smearing her eyeliner before dinner. She touched his shoulder. When she felt she had sufficiently composed herself, she whispered, "It's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Obviously late twentieth century but I can't recognize the author. You didn't include his name."

She would have figured that his tastes ran more traditionally to the Rosettis, maybe Keats or Browning.

He shuffled his feet for the fourth time, tugged at his tie, and cleared his throat again. "It's rubbish. The cadence is off, there's no pattern to the timing, the metaphor doesn't get across the theme properly – "

"Martin. Shut up. It's lovely. Don't spoil it. All I asked was who wrote it? We teach poetry to the Year Fives and Sixes at Tarlington Hall so I do have a passing familiarity with some British poets. But I don't recognize the style. Surely not Donald Davie? No. Overtones of Philip Larkin perhaps?"

Couldn't she just leave it alone? This guessing game was making him more agitated. His stomach muscles clenched. He felt mildly nauseated. This had been a stupid idea. "No."

"Don't be so elusive. Come on, spill. Who is he? Someone new? I could understand that. He needs a bit more polishing but the essence of his imagery is well conveyed."

Martin willed himself to face her. He gulped air. Best to get it over with. His eyelids crinkled with apprehension, hoping she would not think him a complete fool.

"Me."

"You! She was astonished, speechless. Oh, she thought, this man normally so reticent, keeping such a stranglehold on his emotions that they practically suffocated. Yet when he briefly unleashed them, as he had done now, the rewards for her tenacity and perseverance were golden.

"Yes." That he could cobble together some sort of poem in time for today's date was never in doubt in Martin's mind. That it would be reasonably well written had been less assured. Thus he had drafted, rewritten, scratched out and edited six versions before he had been somewhat satisfied with the finished product, given his perfectionist nature. The process of creating and writing had been the easy part. Deciding to actually give it to Louisa had been fraught with indecision.

To alert her to the new extent of his feelings, to expose his vulnerability in needing her, frightened him immensely. What if she laughed at him? Ridiculed the poem? Made light of his proclamations of love and gratitude, what then? Others had done it before, trampling on his declarations, telling him not to be so foolish, not to feel things so intensely.

To admit to Louisa that she was and always had been the refuge he sought from a harsh and brutal world, was to stretch out before her his insecurities, to acknowledge the power she reigned over him, the hope she instilled in him that perhaps life could be more than one long, excruciating endurance test.

He trusted that she appreciated the significance of this heartfelt gift, that she understood him sufficiently to discern its purpose. He knew he was difficult, taciturn, and cold when he chose to be. Could not or would not verbally express his feelings for her. He hoped this poem would suffice, be a life preserver she could cling to. Reassurance when the seas between them inevitably became rough and stormy; when she was tossed about by the volatility of their relationship and searching for some reason to hold fast.

Finally he felt compelled to speak again. "You should rip it up, a bit of sentimental, amateurish tosh. Toss it in the bin over there. I don't know what I was thinking." He couldn't stop berating himself; it would save her doing it for him.

"You actually composed this?" She was still absorbing the information. Could not quite take it in. "Didn't know you wrote poetry."

"I don't. Not for many years. Even then it was sporadic."

"Why did you stop?"

"No reason to continue."

"But now …"

He would not meet her gaze, reveal his purpose. "You like words. You have a facility for them. Framing sentiment comes easily to you. Not to me." That was an understatement. "We are going to be living in different cities soon." He felt her grip his shoulder more tightly. "Thought you would like another card for your nightstand."

She blinked back tears. Her throat was tight, her voice husky. "Well … words are failing me now. Come closer. I want to thank you properly."

She reached up to take his face lovingly into her supple hands. He felt the warm press of her palms as they clasped his cheeks, the tips of her manicured fingernails as they lightly caressed his earlobes, the pads of her thumbs as they slowly stroked the pale skin on either side of his nose. He was embarrassed by the intensity of the emotions this ignited in him. With his face locked firmly in her hands as she studied him, he could not avoid staring directly into her eyes before she put her lips onto his in a progressively deepening kiss.

X X X X X

To be continued next Saturday …


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty Five

"So enough about me and my loopy family At least we didn't kill each other." Lindsay shut the lid of her laptop thereby banishing the digital vacation photos they had been laughing over for the past half hour. Lindsay's hilarious narration of the antics of her siblings combined with her biting imitation of her parents' pleas to find a husband had Louisa laughing so hard she could barely breathe. It was wonderful to see each other again, to catch up and confide; Louisa had most certainly held up her end of the bargain there.

"The four days spent afterwards with my Aunt Shirley in London were the highlight of the vacation. Speaking of which, she wants you to come for dinner once you're settled back in London. She misses you."

"I'd like that very much. I'll telephone her to arrange something before Autumn Term." Louisa gave a broad smile, remembering the kindness this woman had shown her when she had been miserable last winter and spring, pining for Martin.

"Brilliant. She's anxious to meet Martin. Said she expects you to bring him along for dinner sometime when he's in London."

Louisa's face fell.

"Oh, come on, Louisa. It's only for one night. If he gets bored he can peruse her collection of antique furniture. She has two nineteenth century clocks that should tickle his fancy."

Louisa rubbed her hands together awkwardly. "That might not work out. I'll ask Martin but … you know how he is … dinner parties aren't really his thing." She stirred her tea rather than face Lindsay.

"It's not a party. Just one very interesting, highly intelligent sixty-eight year old widow whose arthritis prevents her from getting out as much as she would like nowadays."

"She's fascinating and I'm looking forward to seeing her again. … But … as to Martin …"

"Say no more. I understand."

But inwardly Lindsay did not. The inevitable refusal on Martin's part to accompany Louisa to a simple dinner perplexed her. She was sure that Louisa would try to cajole and coax him into going. She was equally sure that Martin would decline and Louisa would end up making excuses for him.

It was a familiar pattern Lindsay had witnessed during the period of Martin and Louisa's engagement. Lindsay had been helping with organizing the ceremony and reception. She and Louisa would discuss some of the details and decisions over dinner. They wanted Martin present for his rather reluctant input as bridegroom. Martin had declined on every occasion, providing an array of excuses including: the impropriety of socializing with a professional colleague, fatigue, disinterest and lack of time.

Lindsay knew many people with the same introverted tendencies as Martin; that of itself was nothing out of the ordinary. Practically half the population was introverted. However Martin carried this much further with his antisocial, reclusive and frequently abrasive nature. But Louisa's extroverted, outgoing and fun loving nature meant she needed to get out regularly to socialize with people. She practically craved it. So it seemed beyond reason why Martin would not try to make her happy by attending at least an occasional meal with her friends.

Lindsay brushed aside her concerns to study her friend more critically while Louisa leafed through the Lake District travel brochures. The psychologist in her was pleased with what she saw: glowing skin, glossy hair, shining eyes, a consistent smile on her face, laughter where previously there resided tears. Obviously an abundance of "feel good" hormones at work, serotonin and oxytocin surging; likely resultant from all the "bonding" going on with Martin.

The loyal friend was delighted too. She had always surmised that Martin and Louisa's intense physical attraction would go a long way towards cementing their relationship. Nonetheless, Lindsay was pleased that, judging from the many details Louisa had confided this evening, they had wisely chosen first to work on building a friendship and communicating better as precursors to jumping into bed. She thought they had done very well, considering they were such different, dare she say it, ill suited suitors. That poem that Martin had written, what a knockout punch! Yes, he was no T.S. Eliot but who knew he would come so far out of his shell?

Why should this surprise me, Lindsay's brain conjectured? Many times she had witnessed Louisa's ability to inspire and coax the best from her students. She excelled at spotting and assisting those students who were particularly unable to cope with aspects of primary school life, whether in academics, sports or socialization. If anybody could dredge and mine the unplumbed depths of Martin Ellingham's soul, Louisa Glasson was eminently equipped to do so.

Once again, despite her best efforts to suppress it, a niggling worry resurfaced in Lindsay's brain. It felt to her that much of the giving, compromising and sacrificing in this relationship fell to Louisa. Wasn't Martin getting his wish to finally abandon general practice, wasn't he going as far away as possible from Port Wenn? Wasn't he regaining perhaps the best thing ever to happen to him – Louisa?

What was Louisa gaining in return? Yes, a man who very much loved her but one with a difficult personality and evidently an unhappy past. She wanted to resume teaching at her unpretentious little Cornish school. Instead she had signed on for another year at an exclusive girls' academy. She wanted to live in her own cottage in her hometown. Instead she was stuck in a poky bedsit in an expensive metropolis. She wanted to be amongst her friends and neighbours again. Instead she would spend her days with backbiting colleagues vying for promotion. Perhaps most significantly, she desperately wanted a family of her own. Instead her age, the odds and Martin seemed to be conspiring against her wishes.

"What's managed to put a frown on your face? You're barely home from an eighteen day vacation. Penny for your thoughts?" Louisa looked concerned.

Lindsay felt like a traitor, badmouthing Martin in her thoughts. Worse, she felt like a hypocrite. Wasn't it she who had cajoled Louisa into coming back to Port Wenn to try to salvage the relationship with Martin? It had been the correct decision too. Nonetheless, it could not prevent the protective and loyal Lindsay from speculating worriedly about a bleak future in which Louisa would spend her life as the lonely wife of a busy surgeon, in a London flat with no garden, miles away from the sea, little sense of community or belonging and no offspring.

It concerned her enough to pose the following question to her friend, "I heard from Sally Chadwick that Stu McKenzie had lunch with you two weeks ago and offered you the opportunity to interview for a full time position at the school."

"Nothing stays a secret in Port Wenn for long, does it?" Louisa shook her ponytail and grinned.

"Not really. It's Margie Gillis' position that's opened up?"

"Yea. The school will need someone to start at the end of October, after Half Term, if possible."

"Which would be perfect for you. I'm sure that Tarlington Hall has lots of staff coveting your job."

"Lindsay! I have no intention of leaving, you know that."

"Yes but you'd be the unanimous choice of our Board of Governors. They're practically gagging for your return."

Louisa looked her straight in the eye. "I won't flatter myself about the truth of that statement. Regardless, I've promised Martin that I would stay in London for another year. The commute between Port Wenn and Liverpool every other weekend would be too arduous. Besides, it's going to be a difficult transition for him: managing the haemophobia, returning to surgery, not being the toast of the London medical community again."

Lindsay bit her lip. "Right. I just figured that you could make headway on preparing for his return. Maybe look around for a larger house, reestablish your career here. Our current headmaster can't last for long; he's at odds with everybody." Coyly she added, "Maybe think about getting pregnant?"

Louisa fiddled with her tea cup, twisting the handle from side to side, skirting an answer. "Martin won't be able to return to Port Wenn until at least next Autumn. Plenty of time for us to decide things. Regarding children … we haven't got around to …. discussing that yet." She resumed twisting the cup, absorbed in her thoughts.

Lindsay's concern got the better of her judgment. She burst out, "But Louisa, having a family is what you have wanted for years. For Heaven's Sake, you are thirty-eight years old! When is the right time for Martin to have this conversation with you? When you are forty-one and unhappily playing out his dreams in London, abandoning all hope of returning to Port Wenn?" She threw up her arms in frustration. "You can't avoid asking the tough questions simply because you are afraid of the answers!"

Silence descended. Louisa was deeply hurt, stricken. She sat immobile, staring downcast at the pattern on the tablecloth, one hand still attached to the tea cup.

Lindsay was already inwardly cursing herself. Yes, she meant what she said. Nonetheless, she of all people, whose career was devoted to gently helping people reach their own conclusions, guiding them to achieve their own insights, had badly blundered.

"Louisa, I didn't mean … I'm so sorry … it's not my place … I overstepped … of course you and Martin will figure it out in your own time - "

"Uh huh. I should go. It's almost eight o'clock. Martin's coming over to help me with the hoovering. Caroline and Tom will be home in three days." Louisa rose slowly from the table, feeling as if all the breath had been instantly sucked out of her, holding her stomach as if she had just been punched.

Lindsay stood up abruptly, grasped her friend's elbow. "Please forgive me … I should never have implied … never had said –"

"Oh but you never say anything you don't mean," Louisa snapped. Her green eyes flashed fury. "We've been good friends for more than two years. I know that you are impeccably diplomatic, so careful with your selection of words."

"No, I'm not. I make lots of clumsy blunders," Lindsay implored. "Let me explain …"

"No need." Louisa grabbed her purse from the sofa.

"I think there is, Please, Louisa."

Louisa relented, stood waiting, arms folded, lips pursed.

Lindsay figured she had about thirty seconds in which to spit out her explanation before Louisa stormed off. "Look, I just want you to be certain to get as much out of this relationship with Martin as you are prepared to give."

Louisa raised an eyebrow. Her mouth set tightly. She shook her ponytail in disbelief.

Lindsay rapidly formulated her thoughts as diplomatically as she could. "If in a year from now you are permanently living in Liverpool or London, please make certain that there are enough things in your life to sustain you happily: children, a teaching job that fulfills you, a home with your stamp on it where your friends are free to visit – "

That was it; the last straw. Louisa could barely control her hurt and sense of betrayal. Was there no one who truly understood her and Martin? "I've shared details with you this evening that no one else knows: Martin's job, the poem, his asking me to move to Liverpool with him … that we had finally slept together."

She blushed at that and stopped to draw breath before lashing out. "And this is how you repay my confidence, my trust? By responding just like everyone else in Port Wenn. For the past five and a half weeks all I've heard from this bloody village is how much better off I am without that buggar Doc Martin. How lucky I am to have broken our engagement, what a narrow escape I've had. If you felt the same, why not just say?"

Louisa had reached the front door. Seething, she stopped suddenly causing her ponytail to slap the side of her neck, pointed an angry finger at Lindsay and shouted, "How Martin and I decide to live our lives is nobody's bloody business but our own, got it?"

Lindsay nodded, tears forming. Louisa flung open the door and slammed it behind her. Lindsay opened her mouth to try to stop her.

Too late. The damage was done.

X X X X X X

To be continued next Saturday…


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty Six

It seemed that almost no one in Port Wenn was pleased to hear Martin and Louisa's news but almost everyone thought it their business to discuss, debate and dissect every tidbit. For starters, nobody was happy that the Doc was leaving. He might be a rude, insensitive and humourless tosser but he was the best diagnostician and practitioner they ever had. He might not like them but he had never once failed to respond to an emergency regardless of whether he was on duty. Nobody was thrilled with the prospect of a young, lesser experienced new graduate replacing him.

Everybody was disappointed that Louisa was not coming home. Most blamed Martin. Margie Gillis had not kept her plans a secret. Everyone now knew that a position was opening up at the school. Parents, staff and pupils wanted Louisa back teaching. Dissatisfaction with the strict discipline and penny pinching ways of the new Headmaster only augmented this sentiment.

The third part of this gossip trifecta was received most unkindly of all. Except for a small minority including Joan, Lindsay, Caroline and Roger, public sentiment was staunchly stacked against Martin and Louisa's reconciliation.

Mrs. Tishell and Carrie Wilson were the chief naysayers. They informed anyone who cared to listen what a huge mistake Martin was making allowing this flighty, temperamental, younger woman back in his life. Apparently Martin had confided to his good friend, Mrs. Tishell, that Louisa with her London airs, smart clothes and posh new job, was pressuring him to leave Port Wenn. Most everyone else thought it was Louisa who was making the mistake; she could do much better.

X X X X X X

From the clash with Lindsay on Wednesday evening to locking the door behind her at the Bosmans' home on Saturday afternoon, it had seemed like one protracted nightmare to Louisa. Leaving the Bosmans' signaled the end of very happy memories for her and meant she could no longer avoid the fact of her imminent departure. As Martin packed her luggage into the Lexus, she took one last wistful look around.

Having cleaned every corner of the house, fed Byron, overstocked the refrigerator and pantry with food, placed fresh flowers in the lounge, she walked around the house once more to pay homage to her memories. Here is where Martin fell to the floor after Byron scratched him, there is where they kissed for the first time, here is where he swooped her up in his arms to carry her upstairs and upstairs was where they …

But the greatest misery of all had come from listening to the backlash from the Port Wenners. Louisa had insisted that Martin notify Pauline and his patients on Thursday that he was giving notice and leaving his practice. Had it been left up to Martin, he would have merely posted a sign on the front door of the surgery before leaving town. The news had spread like wildfire. People naturally approached Louisa to solicit her opinion and she felt it dishonest to pretend less than she knew. Thus she told the truth about their newfound status as a couple. That news spread faster than the speed of sound.

X X X X X X

To quell the curiousity, she dragged Martin to The Large Restaurant for dinner on Saturday evening. It would be their only public appearance as a couple before they left on Wednesday. Louisa thought it best to get it over with right away. Otherwise when patients arrived at the surgery on Monday morning they would realize she was staying there. Better not give the gossips more fodder.

Hiding behind her menu for a brief respite from the stares, nods and whispers from the surrounding tables, Louisa experienced an indignation borne of disappointment. Could not one person come over to wish them well with their joint future and career changes? Her mood got no better when Bert himself arrived to take their orders.

"So it's true that you're leavin' us, eh Doc?"

"Yes." Martin grimaced.

"Goin' to be disappointin' a lot of folks round here."

"Doubtful." Martin studied his menu intently.

"Isn't it more important lookin' after the health of a thousand noble souls than mixin' gunk in a testube?"

Martin sniffed, his disdain unrestrained. "No. You will likely be a prime candidate for the new stent when it's ready and for cardiovascular surgery in a few years if you continue to pursue your gluttonous caloric intake."

Louisa cringed.

"You could at least have persuaded Louisa to come back home to take Margie Gillis' job at the school, Doc."

Martin slammed down the menu. The table shook. Louisa steadied her glass of water. Martin snarled, "That is none of your bloody business, Bert! We came here to eat dinner, not to be interrogated, if you are incapable of serving us, then we will leave."

"Take it easy, Doc." Bert turned to Louisa. "But it's only for a year, right Louisa? Then you'll be back home."

"Hopefully." She mustered an apologetic smile.

"Doubtfully," countered Martin.

Bert rolled his eyes, turned to Louisa and muttered, "Good luck with this one." He waddled off to place their orders.

X X X X X X

By the time they returned to Martin's cottage, all thoughts of a romantic finish to the evening had vanished from Louisa's brain. It should have been a triumphant night, being back in Martin's bed after so many months. Instead she was furious with practically everyone in Port Wenn excepting Martin. Lucky him; he was selected as her sounding board, freely venting her hurt, disappointment and fury. She got no satisfaction there. He was oblivious to the village's response.

"But don't you care that in the past three days not one person has bothered to thank you for your years of service or wished you luck with your change in career path?"

"No."

"More than a one word response, please Martin."

"I do my work out of a sense of duty and obligation for their health and welfare, not for their gratitude."

"Yes but they're so ungrateful. After all the lives you've saved, illnesses cured, emergencies answered, you'd think they'd want to do something nice for you. Maybe organize a party or something."

"I don't want a party."

"Yes but that's not the point, is it?"

He stared at her blankly, not knowing what the point was. He thought she was making too much of it. He didn't care about any of these people. The faster he got out of here without a gush of sentiment coming his way, the better.

"Fine but they at least could have congratulated us on getting back together. A lot of those same people were invited to our wedding, if you remember."

He didn't remember. Here we go again, he thought. "Why on earth should they congratulate us?"

"Because that is what people do when they're happy for you, Martin."

She decided not to add that during the month of their engagement she had been surprised that none of the same people had tried to talk her out of her impending nuptials. For that they remained silent. Now they could not refrain from badmouthing their reconciliation.

Martin let out a tortured sigh. "Louisa, I am very pleased that we are together again, that I will shortly be restarting my surgical career. Why would I possibly care what a backward bunch of imbeciles think of me?"

"They're not imbeciles, Martin, but they could – "

He cut her off. "Why not telephone one of your friends to commiserate? Call Caroline."

"She just arrived home this afternoon from a six week trip. I'm not going to bother her tonight. We are having coffee late tomorrow afternoon. I'll moan to her then."

"What about Dr. Goldman? This breast beating sounds right up her alley."

"She's busy," lied Louisa. She hadn't told Martin about their falling out on Wednesday evening. Not that he would have understood anyway and as they were professional colleagues, Louisa did not want to muddy the waters.

Getting no satisfaction here, Louisa retreated to Martin's bedroom to sort her clothes, some of which she would be leaving here for her weekend visits.

For one of the very few times in her life, Louisa felt alienated from her village. She could not remember the last time she had felt this way; perhaps after her father had stolen the Lifeboat Society funds and she had been the only one to defend him. Regardless, she was heartily disappointed in her village. She put her hand on her mobile a dozen times to telephone Lindsay before deciding against it.

Blinded by her own hurt, she made the erroneous assumption to lump Lindsay in with the naysayers. In her fierce defence of Martin and her despondency regarding leaving Port Wenn, Louisa refused to acknowledge her own qualms about the future. That she and Martin had decided to be together was not in doubt yet she could not shake the gnawing feeling that if Martin hadn't chosen this time to change career paths, she would be returning to London to hand in her notice at Tarlington Hall and to finish her employment there by Half Term break. She speculated, not for the first time, what might have happened had she initiated a reconciliation this past winter. She cast aside this thought as unhelpful conjecture.

A year ago she had stood in Martin's kitchen and told him that she was worried about what she was doing with her life. Two weeks ago she had told him that she was worried that her life would get swallowed up by his. Was she prepared to acquiesce where Martin would not concede?

If she was absolutely honest with herself, something she was not prepared to be at this time, she would have acknowledged that Lindsay's dire warning had struck a nerve. She shared the same worries herself. Her overreaction to Lindsay was no more than a manifestation of that denial.

X X X X X X

As Louisa sipped an espresso made from Martin's machine on Wednesday morning, she struggled to keep her melancholy at bay. She recoiled at the bitterness of the beverage. Having slept little last night she thought the intense jolt of caffeine would help her get through the last hours before they drove up to London. She hated to go. Martin was in a good mood, pleased at the prospect of a few days alone with Louisa and eager to discuss some ideas with the Head of Vascular Surgery. At a farewell dinner last night at Joan's, he was almost agreeable.

As he walked into the kitchen with the morning's delivery of mail, he handed her a white envelope with only her first name written on it. "It was lying on the floor near the mail slot. Obviously someone hand delivered it earlier in the morning. There's no stamp or return address."

Puzzled, she studied the writing. Lindsay. Louisa swallowed hard. She hadn't returned Lindsay's phone call on Sunday and was feeling guilty.

"I'll just take this upstairs with me to read later. Time for my shower now," she muttered.

Martin grunted, already absorbed in reading the Table of Contents for the British Medical Journal.

As soon as she reached Martin's bedroom, she ripped open the envelope and felt a clutch at her heart.

To be continued next Saturday …


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty Seven

Louisa dropped the torn envelope onto Martin's bed. She gazed at it hesitantly, reluctant to read its contents. Maybe Lindsay was ending their friendship. She had been so angry with Lindsay on Wednesday evening, utterly convinced that her friend was berating her for returning to London; a first step towards surrendering her hopes of the home and family she so desired. However with the perspective of time and distance, Louisa had finally realized that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

When Lindsay had come up to see her in London last March, Louisa had been crystal clear what she wanted out of life: marriage to Martin, the continuation of her teaching career, a home on the outskirts of Port Wenn filled with their child or children, a big shaggy dog and plenty of friends.

Lindsay, rarely outspoken in her opinions, had been spontaneously blunt out of genuine concern for Louisa's future happiness. Lindsay hadn't said not to go to London, as Louisa thought she had heard. Rather, Lindsay had implored Louisa to ensure that however and wherever she and Martin decided to live their lives together, that they strike a happy compromise with which they both could live.

And what had been Lindsay's repayment? What had been Lindsay's reward for reminding Louisa of those words spoken with such tearful conviction six months ago on a park bench in London? Louisa chastised herself; she who so valued honesty and straightforwardness, had childishly stormed off, refusing to discuss the matter.

How stupid she have been, Louisa chided herself. At a time when most of the village seemed selfishly unwilling to share her happiness, she hoped that she had not lost one of the few friends who did. Stealing herself, she removed the letter from the envelope and read.

Tuesday evening.

Dear Louisa,

I can understand why you don't wish to speak with me right now but I do hope you won't cast aside this letter. I have heard the village drums beating the last few days with all your news. I'm guessing that it's not filling you with warm feelings and I wanted to say a few things to hopefully console you.

First, try to remember that your news caught everyone off guard, excepting the very few of us who were privy to it earlier. You both chose wisely to keep secret Martin's interviews for the surgical position and your efforts to reconcile until the time when both these things had come to fruition. To do otherwise might have brought needless distractions. The villagers need time for the shock to wear off and to adjust.

Second, don't expect people to be thrilled that Martin is leaving and you aren't coming back to Port Wenn, at least not for a while. Both of you have been integral and vital to this community's health, welfare and education for quite some time. The new Headmaster has been woefully inadequate in filling your shoes. It is doubtful whether the locum replacement will be anywhere near the caliber of Martin in all matters medical. It's a compliment really, the residents' anger, they don't want to lose either of you. Forgive them for being a little selfish and for knowing a good thing when they see it, even if they don't always show their appreciation.

Third, aside from the very few of us privileged to have been your confidantes, no one was aware of your attempts to salvage your relationship with Martin. Rightly so, that activity required privacy. Most people thought you were simply in Port Wenn on vacation. So I imagine that it came as quite a shock to learn that after nine months apart, you two were back together.

I gather that when you had dinner at Bert's (yes, I heard about that, the Port Wenn rumour mill never grinds to a halt, does it?) there were lots of gawkers. When people see and understand how happy you are now, they will be happy for you too. Remember that very few people knew how utterly unhappy you were for months after the break-up.

Fourth, I imagine that you depart today with a heavy heart, leaving behind much that is friendly and familiar. Remember though that you also leave with something very precious beside you – Martin. He, after all, is really what you came home to retrieve and you have done so brilliantly.

Lastly, I hope you haven't already crumpled up this letter and binned it. If not, thank you for bearing with me. It was never my intention to hurt your feelings, betray your trust or dampen your joy. I apologize.

You are a generous, compassionate and supportive person. Because of these traits, you often tend to put the needs of others ahead of your own. My sole intent (which I supremely botched) was to persuade you to ensure that your own future, your own life, is equally as fulfilling as Martin's. That is the path to a happy marriage between the two of you. So don't be afraid to ask him the hard questions along the way.

I would guess that once Martin leaves for Liverpool, you won't be back here much. I don't want to leave things this way between us. Perhaps when you are next in Port Wenn we could go for a walk along the cliffs and sort things out between us? Think about it. Please.

Your friend always,

Lindsay

X X X X X

Louisa wiped away her tears, blew her nose and immediately dialed Lindsay's mobile. Her call went straight to voice mail; she declined to leave a message. Of course, it was Wednesday, one of Lindsay's days at the pediatric outpatient clinic in Truro. Louisa pulled the number from her list of contacts. Lindsay's private line was busy, sending the call to the clinic receptionist.

"I'm sorry. Dr. Goldman's line is engaged just now. Would you like me to put you through to her voice mail?" asked the harried receptionist.

"No, thank you." Louisa's mind drew a blank thinking of what she might say to an automated machine. What if she fumbled it? "Would you just tell her that Louisa Glasson called? She has my number."

"Actually, Miss Glasson, her telephone line has just freed up. Would you like me to check whether she can speak to you now? I don't think she has very long. She has another patient in ten minutes and a stack of calls to return. The clinic's rather backed up today. Or would you rather she call you at the end of the day when she has more free time?"

Best to let Lindsay make that choice. Maybe she was hurt that Louisa had refused to speak with her on Sunday. Maybe a little more time and distance were required. On the other hand, Louisa knew it was unlikely that she would be free to talk openly at the end of day when she was sitting in the car with a cantankerous Martin braving the London rush hour traffic.

"Just give her my name and let her decide. Thank you."

Louisa waited apprehensively while she was put on hold, listening to an insipid electronic version of the Beatles' "I Get by with A Little Help from My Friends".

"Louisa?"

"Lindsay. I'm so glad that you took my call."

"Of course I would. Why ever not?"

"Um … the receptionist said you're very busy today and … um … after what I said to you last Wednesday and then rudely flounced out of your cottage … there is good reason for you not to."

"Rubbish. It would take much more than that for me to refuse to speak with you. Anyway, it's me who should apologize."

"No. Besides, you already did that in person and in your very kind letter. Anyway I was the one who overreacted and took it out on you when you only intended to help."

"I shot off my mouth without thinking first. After months of encouraging you to try again with Martin, it must have sounded as if I was suddenly berating you for succeeding and for being happy".

"It did actually, at first. Until I realized that you were only telling me not to give away everything I want just to keep who I want."

"I think you just said it far better than I ever could."

"To be honest, I'm feeling somewhat downcast today. It's been a wonderful summer, reconciling with Martin, all the romance of it, being amongst my friends again, being home, breathing in the sea breezes …" Louisa' voice trailed off wistfully.

"But now it's back to reality again?"

"Yea. Missing all this, not being with Martin, the uncertainty of what's going to happen …"

"I know. I think you have to let time and events roll out ahead of you both."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you certain you want to hear my rubbish opinion?"

"Your opinion isn't rubbish. If I can't listen to one of my best friends then who am I going to listen to?"

"Okay. Well … I was just thinking that instead of avoiding or resisting the problem, go through it together. Evolve together. Reinforce the positives. Martin thinks of this year as an opportunity, it sounds like you think of it more as an obstacle."

"I do actually. Now that I have had time to consider what it entails, especially since Margie Gillis's job is becoming vacant."

"Instead of missing what you think you have lost or what you think you might never have, why not consider the coming months as an investment in your relationship? A time to work through the things that you both think you want. Otherwise you are never going to make it as a couple if you spend these months shredding and dismantling each other's dreams. People don't. I see it all the time in my practice - ". A buzzer interrupted her. It was the receptionist again to say that the next patient was waiting. "Louisa, I'll have to go in a minute."

"I'm sorry to have called you at work but I didn't want this hanging over our heads." Louisa looked at the clock beside the bed. Martin expected to leave within the hour. He wouldn't be pleased with the delay.

"I'm so glad that you did."

"Let's get together when I'm back next."

"Brilliant. Count on it."

"Bye."

Despite the patient anxiously waiting in the reception area, Lindsay took a minute to clear her head, knowing that she needed to be completely focused on her patient's words not on the thoughts buzzing round in her own disquieted mind. So it hadn't just been her imagination, Louisa was worried. About the next few months, the year, the future? Likely a combination of all three.

Long distance relationships had a way of bringing out the best and the worst in couples.

To be continued ….


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty Eight

London. Vibrant, dynamic, stimulating. From 43 AD when the Roman Emperor Claudius crossed the sea and claimed this island for part of his omnipotent Roman Empire, Londinium, as it was then known, became much more than a mere strategic meeting place where two gravel hills surrounded a natural port. Beginning in Roman times, Londinium became the bustling centre of activity for the entire island of Great Britain, known for its brisk trade, peace and prosperity. Two thousand years later London still retains all of that promise. Steeped in history and pageantry, awash in culture and fashion, seat of high finance and political power, London is a mecca for those seeking adventure, change, inspiration and possibilities.

Today as Louisa dusted away the cobwebs from the small kitchen window sill in her confined bedsit, none of this mattered nor left much of an impression on her. She could not shake this apathy. Back only one day from the Cornish coast, she was already missing it. She watched a lone spider crawling up the drain pipe outside of her second floor window. Like her, it was navigating its way, ever cautiously, in a new situation.

Turning to face the dishes in the sink of the narrow galley kitchen, she surveyed objectively the cramped living quarters overstuffed with her bed, other furniture, photographs and books. The dearth of open space wasn't helped by her unpacked luggage still deposited beside the coffee table. She groaned, realizing she would have to have it put away before Martin arrived back, which she realized with a jolt, was only six hours away. There were a host of chores to finish prior to his return including dusting and hoovering, visiting the building janitor, doing the marketing for tonight's dinner. How much easier the marketing was in Port Wenn. Just a matter of visiting a few familiar shops on the main streets and a brief trip to the fishmonger's at the Front. All of which included a friendly chat with the shopkeepers and a chance to catch up on village news and gossip with the neighbours.

She had to stop doing this. Comparing everything derisively to Port Wenn. It was not constructive. This wistfulness and longing would only plunge her deeper into despondency and foul her mood which she likely would take out on Martin. She had wholeheartedly affirmed her commitment to him; she would see out the year in London. She would unreservedly honour her promise to wait and see how the coming twelve months would unfold, to ride out the uncertainty and ambivalence.

What had Lindsay said at the end of her letter? To remember that once again Louisa had Martin in her life and to cherish that. Quite right and that meant an immediate turnabout and adjustment in her mood and attitude. Louisa reminded herself of what might have been: a lone return to London after an unsuccessful attempt to salvage her relationship with Martin. That would have been heartbreaking indeed. She knew she should consider herself fortunate that Martin had still been living in Port Wenn when she arrived there in early July. What if he had already moved to Liverpool without contacting her first? Would she have tried to search him out or simply given up, figuring he had chosen to move on without her?

When Martin returned home this evening from his day in Liverpool, she planned to be in considerably better spirits than she had been yesterday afternoon when they arrived in London. Then she had grumbled about the heat, the traffic, the pollution, the noise, the crowds – just about everything really. The culture shock had been intense. Martin, conversely, had taken it in stride, deftly maneuvering the Lexus though the congested streets until they had found her brickstone apartment building. Then his mood darkened. He had said little but judging from the few disparaging comments that trickled out and his sour expression, he wasn't thrilled with her choice of neighbourhood, building or apartment.

No matter. He hadn't seemed to mind when he was enthusiastically welcomed back into her bed last night. Then he had been oblivious to the clutter that threatened to engulf them: the clothes overspilling the narrow closet, boxes and dresser drawers. Instead he had remembered with unbridled pleasure the first time he had been invited to stay overnight in this bed, under the tomato red sheets and warm plaid duvet, avidly exploring her body.

She resolved to plaster a smile on her face, make everything clean and cheery for him, banish all negative thoughts and cobwebs, value the remaining couple of days they had together and enjoy the vigorous metropolis engulfing her.

X X X X X X

Martin was not in good humour when he returned that evening. It had nothing to do with the train being twenty-seven minutes late arriving at Euston Station nor the number of transfers required on the Tube or the three block walk to her apartment building. He had been very well received at the Royal Liverpool. A number of surgeons and senior staff had stopped by to welcome him. Martin relished being once more in an environment where his skills and intellectual acumen were appreciated, where he did not feel taken for granted.

Two things had not gone as anticipated however. The first was only minimally disconcerting. The Head of the Appointments Committee had asked if he would be prepared to commence his term of employment on October 3rd rather than November 1st as previously planned. They were anxious to begin his surgical re-training and to start work on the research protocols with his new team. Martin had readily consented to this, silently brushing aside his own concerns that he had planned to use the balance of October to close his practice, pack, move and most crucially, finish his final cognitive behavioural therapy sessions with Dr. Travers. These were all luxuries which he felt he could do without if pressed.

Louisa, he was quite convinced, would not be pleased. She had planned to help him with the final packing of his cottage and the move to the new flat in Liverpool. She had anticipated spending her entire Half Term break doing so. She said it would help them bond. She would just have to live with the disappointment.

Likely to be the most inconvenienced were the residents of Port Wenn. Martin's replacement, whoever that might be, was not set to open his or her practice until the first week in November. Well, that was no longer Martin's problem. Chris would have to sort it. The malingerers and the hypochondriacs of Port Wenn and environs would have to trudge off to Wadebridge or Truro for their cures.

The second difficulty was more serious and one he had already resolved not to discuss with Louisa. She would become overly emotional and make too much of it. Today, while visiting the surgical ward, he had been invited to accompany one of the vascular surgeons for the first hour of his afternoon clinic. All had gone well until a wound from a skin graft had begun seeping blood out of its sutures. The surgeon, the nurse and the patient, absorbed in treating the seepage, had fortunately not noticed Martin's reaction.

With the onset of the oozing blood, Martin had experienced the return of the familiar wet palms and forehead, the heart palpitations, the nausea rising in his gorge. He quickly instituted his deep breathing regimen and after a time the symptoms of the mild panic attack subsided but it had taken all of his concentration. Upon the conclusion of the procedure, Martin excused himself to go to the staff washroom. Nobody was any the wiser but the incident had greatly unsettled his confidence. Surely he was further along in his cure than this?

He would be back on this same ward in six weeks time, expected to be the one removing sutures or cleaning up any residual seepage. He bloody well would be ready. What was it they taught children in riding school? The first time you fall off the horse you have to get straight back on, mount immediately. Face your fears head on before they had time to clasp on to you, before they were unshakeable, became a dreaded part of your daily existence. Well, he hadn't done that at the time. Instead he had scurried off to hide in some obscure little village where no one would find him. Now he would get back on the horse because now he had the tools to cope. If he didn't, it wasn't likely he ever would.

He would telephone Dr. Travers straight away on Monday morning to discuss the problem. Between Travers' vacation and Martin accompanying Louisa to London this Wednesday, there had been no therapy session for several weeks. Perhaps that was the problem.

The psychologist had insisted he visit the hospital in Truro to occasionally watch operations from the safety of the glassed in observation deck above the surgical theatre. Martin had resisted, claiming vociferously that it was unnecessary, unwilling to admit his fear that he might embarrass himself by fainting or vomiting. He would become the laughing stock of the hospital if he did. Adrian Pitts would have a field day. Now Martin was rethinking his resistance. Six weeks wasn't all that much time to get himself in order.

To be continued in April ….


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty Nine

Denial, at times, can be a healthy defense mechanism. It may help one traverse a traumatic situation, staving off the reality until the brain can find a safer and more suitable time and place to cope with and adjust to the trauma. Not now, the brain says, I will deal with you later when it is less painful, stressful or frightening to do so.

Separately and individually Martin and Louisa had unconsciously chosen, at least for a time, to deny the nagging worries swirling round in their respective brains. Louisa wanted their remaining two and a half days together in London to be stuffed full of happy memories, ease and reassurance. She wholeheartedly wanted to believe that somehow everything would sort itself out despite the fact that she and Martin undoubtedly had dissimilar visions regarding their collective future.

Martin wanted to stifle the reality that his haemophobia wasn't altogether cured, that he would soon have to explain to Louisa that he was closing up shop a month earlier than planned, that her Half Term break would be spent alone rather than playing house with him in Liverpool.

Thus Denial and its ever helpful and complicit companion, Avoidance, whispered unrealistic reassurances into the ears of this apprehensive couple, making virtually certain that nothing of consequence would be discussed on this bright and warm Friday morning in the fair city of London.

X X X X X X

At breakfast Martin informed Louisa that he planned to take the tube to Selfridges to buy new shirts and ties. She was surprised and delighted by the invitation to join him and his subsequent offer to take her to lunch afterwards. They had never been on a real shopping trip before, apart from for groceries and Martin's reluctant, brief accompaniments into Truro to select wedding invitations and related sundries. Come to think of it, they had never been anywhere together outside of the Port Wenn and local areas, excepting for medical emergencies and the disastrous outdoor concert to watch Holly play her cello.

This was a wholly new and exciting experience for Louisa. A rare opportunity to glimpse yet another side of this complex individual. She dressed in what she hoped passed for late summer chic and pinned up her hair into what she prayed might be a fetching coiffure. Martin appeared to take little notice. Despite the steamy weather he wore a summer wool suit and striped tie as usual. Walking through the city streets with him and into the gentleman's department at the posh store, Louisa was intrigued by how easily he blended into the London ambiance.

His determined, brisk walking style was in sync with the pace of just about everybody else on the crowded main streets. Martin's succinct, matter of fact, clipped tones had little negative effect on the sales clerk presently waiting on him at the tie counter. Martin Ellingham, always a fish out of water in sleepy, laid back Port Wenn, was in his natural element. Here was a different Martin from the one she knew. She had to admit that she found him supremely attractive.

Louisa, who could not walk three blocks in Port Wenn without being stopped by at least two people, marveled at how much more relaxed Martin was treading the London streets. Absent was the annoyance of being forced to make small talk or to diagnose a medical complaint. His movement from point A to point B unencumbered, not having to avoid every human being with whom he came into contact.

Out of place amongst the Cornish locals and the tourists, dressed in his bespoke suits, crisply starched dress shirts, cufflinks and shiny black leather shoes; here in London he mixed in. He was comfortable, accepted instead of ridiculed, his perpetual scowl unfazing residents. He relished the anonymity and impersonality borne of juxtaposition to millions of unknown London souls minding their own business.

"Louisa! This is the third time I've called your name. Is there a buildup of wax in your ear canals that prevents you from hearing me?"

Startled, she rose up from the comfortably upholstered velvet armchair in which she had been both waiting and studying him.

"Would you mind stepping over here? I've narrowed down my choices and would appreciate your opinion."

Here again was something new. Usually he never asked her advice - about anything. She was flattered to be solicited. Martin stepped aside to allow the clerk to discuss with her the proposed tie selections. As the two of them walked over to the shelves filled neatly with assorted dress shirts, Martin hung back surreptiously to take stock of her.

He comprehended that Louisa felt out of place here. A fish out of water amid the snobbery, pretension and exorbitant prices. Nonetheless he felt a twinge of pride thinking how well she fit in. He admired her hair, swept up elegantly on top of her head. A perfect match for the classic floral ensemble she had chosen to wear. She had the normally prim and stuffy sales clerk smiling, clearly charmed. She turned several heads when they had entered the gentleman's section and there had been no shortage of clerks to wait on them despite an abundance of customers. London or Liverpool, either place would surely make her a happy home.

X X X X X X

As they finished their pasta salads and iced teas in the main store restaurant, Louisa leaned in to speak to him, wrapping her slender hand around his large one.

"Martin, I was wondering, since we're already here, and it is a rather posh shop, perhaps we should visit the Lingerie and Nightwear Department together after lunch?"

"Whatever for?"

"Um … what would you buy in a lingerie department?"

"I wouldn't buy anything. I'd go to the sleepwear section of the Gentleman's Department and purchase a pair of long-sleeved, powder blue oxford cloth, button up pajamas. That is if I needed another pair, which I currently don't."

"Right, However I'm referring to women's nightwear."

"Whatever are you rambling on about, Louisa? I don't ever visit women's nightwear departments. Why would I? That would border on sexual impropriety." His impatience was rising, clearly puzzled by the hints sailing past his head.

Exerting considerable patience, Louisa tried again. "Yes, Martin, but sometimes men do accompany their female … ah … partners to such places."

"Why would I do such a thing? You have very good taste, modestly conservative. I doubt you require assistance selecting a new pair of cotton pajamas and if you do, the saleswomen would be far more knowledgeable about the stock and sizes than I."

"Er … yes, in most cases that would be true. Maybe though I require a little assistance from you if I was selecting something to wear … for you … to please you … you know … in bed." She blushed, thinking of the pleasure she would experience wearing something chosen for her by Martin.

"What? I'm sorry. I have absolutely no idea what you are babbling about. Wear whatever you want in bed. It's your business, not mine, what clothes you sleep in."

Louisa put down her fork, utterly exasperated. Martin could be so dense at times. Did she really have to spell this out to a forty-six year old man?

"Yes … but we aren't always sleeping when we are in bed together, are we? I mean, on Wednesday night, for instance, we didn't go to sleep for at least an hour after we climbed into my bed, did we?" She gave him a smirk then took a long sip of her iced tea, allowing him time to digest her words.

Bingo. Now it was Martin's turn to stop eating. As he put down the fork with the untouched piece of ravioli still skewered in place, a slow creep of red tinged his earlobes.

Cringing with embarrassment, he whispered, "Really, Louisa. This isn't the place for that type of conversation. Anyone might overhear us."

Louisa glanced over to the only two tables nearby that contained late lunch customers. At the table opposite them sat a businessman frenetically typing away on his laptop computer, oblivious to anything around him. At the table to their right sat a mother and her teenaged daughter. The daughter's fingers tapped away on the table to the sounds of the loud beats emanating from the earphones attached to her ipod. Her mother was immersed in punching out messages on her Blackberry. Neither one was looking at each other, much less at Martin and Louisa.

Louisa sat back in her chair, unabashed in her comfort level with the subject at hand. "Why? What's wrong with having this conversation? You and I are two consenting, mature adults with a very healthy interest in each other's bodies." She saw the look of horror on his face. "Honestly, Martin. Don't be so prudish. There's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. We enjoy having sex together, don't we?"

Martin wished the floor underneath his seat contained a trap door. He rather hoped to disappear. "Yes … but," he spluttered, "I'm quite certain that such activities are medically quite normal for two members of the human species who are attracted to one another. However there is no reason to discuss such … personal … matters in a public place and most certainly not in front of a disapproving sales clerk at Selfridges."

"I disagree with you. I am not seeking her opinion as to what I should wear to entice you. She doesn't know what attracts you. Only you do. Therefore I want you to help me select something that you will enjoy."

She inclined towards him once more, a grin spreading across her face, her eyes sparkling. "So, I am asking you again. What would you like me to wear when we are having sex?"

To be continued tomorrow …


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

Martin's cheeks were crimson. "Louisa!" The word came out less as an admonishment, more of an emphatic whisper, a plea for decorum.

"Okay. Perhaps this is a subject in which you are not well versed. I can't expect you to be an expert in everything. Let me suggest a few options to assist your decision. You can indicate with a grunt what you would prefer."

Martin considered pleading that he needed the washroom but he had just visited there prior to lunch. He suspected Louisa wouldn't believe that route of escape.

She placed her hand thoughtfully underneath her chin and began a recitation of lingerie styles. "What about a negligee? No? A chemise? Hmm. Baby dolls?"

Martin coughed. Visiting the dentist was less excruciating. At least there, you could be sedated to alleviate the anxiety and blot out what was being done to you.

"Silk, satin or lace? Your choice. It's for your viewing pleasure, after all. I don't mind what I wear, providing it's in good taste," she teased.

Martin gulped down more iced tea. The cool liquid soothed his heated body.

Assessing him carefully, she continued. "Right then. You are a man who appreciates texture. I would guess maybe silk with lace trim? Would you prefer snaps, buttons, although they can take agonizingly long to undo. Perhaps zippers or Velcro? They are expedient."

Martin stared at her, mouth agape. He had considered ordering the fruit cocktail for dessert. Suddenly food had lost all of its appeal.

"What about the colour? Men react differently to various colour combinations. Unfortunately with my pale skin I can't wear everything." She stared at her lightly tanned forearm and frowned. "This will fade soon enough once I am back indoors teaching all day. So what about purple or red? No? You are more of the traditional sort so maybe that old classic – midnight black?"

Martin loosened his tie slightly, fingering the inside of his collar. His mind vacillated between titillation and mortification, shame and excitement. Why did this woman have such an effect on him?

"You're not being terribly forthcoming with your answers. If you really aren't certain about what you want then you had definitely better come with me. Let's get the cheque and go up now. It's almost two o'clock and I think we would both rather get back to my neighbourhood before the Friday afternoon rush hour starts on the Tube." She motioned to the waiter.

"I most certainly will not go with you. Think about what you are asking! You're not wearing a wedding band. The sales clerks will think that you are my … mistress." The last word came out more as a strangulated murmur.

Astonishing. This brilliant and gifted man who could not give a toss about what ninety-five percent of the world thought of him. She pictured him cowering underneath the snide disapproval of a lingerie sales clerk; a woman whom he was likely never to cast eyes on again. Louisa could barely suppress a snicker.

"Martin. A man helping his partner select her nightwear can be a mildly erotic and pleasantly intimate experience for them both, providing neither succumbs to embarrassment. And I can assure you that the women who work in posh places such as this one, especially if they receive a commission for what they sell, will be only too pleased to serve us, regardless of whether we are married, engaged, cheating on our spouses or whatever." She took a moment to catch her breath.

Martin drew himself up to his full height, aspiring to look dignified. "Well, you can go on your own. I'll have no part in it. I don't care what you wear to bed with me. It's an impractical garment anyway. You don't wear it for very long before it's off."

Louisa folded her arms across her chest and looked away, dejected. What should have been an entertaining and playful exchange between them had turned sour as it so often did when Martin was on the receiving end.

Annoyed, she capitulated, "Alright, Martin. You win. I was only trying to do something that I figured would give you pleasure. After this weekend we won't be able to spend more than a few days together each month, except at holidays. I just wanted to ensure that our time together was memorable and that you enjoyed it. All of it."

Undaunted by his displeasure and apparent disinterest, she decided to go it alone and see what she could find. She stood up and angrily pushed her purse high up onto her arm. Why did he always have to puncture a hole in the inflating balloon of her good humour and pleasure?

She was right. It would not be until Christmas that they would spend as much as a week at a time together again. And he still had to tell her about Half Term break. Truly sorry for deflating her good intentions, he wanted to make amends. Yet he could not comprehend why such a beautiful woman felt the need to wrap herself in some expensive and impractical garment solely for the purpose of luring a man who was already in her thrall. Still, if it would make her feel better ….

"How about this," he said gruffly. "Once you have made your selection, call me on my mobile and I'll come to the Lingerie Department and pay for whatever selection you have made."

A broad smile filled Louisa's face. "I don't mind paying for it myself. I just wanted you to be included in the decision. But if you'd be happier doing that then okay – "

"No. I want to contribute in some way to the process. If that will appease you." He let out a sigh, knowing that this next promise would make him more uncomfortable than sitting through a root canal. "I'll tell you what. Narrow it down to two items. When I come up you can show them to me on their hangers. I will make the final decision."

Louisa's smile broadened further. This was going to be fun.

Imperiously, Martin wagged a finger at her. "But no trickery, right? I'm not going to sit there and stew whilst you parade various garments for me. Narrow it to two that you have tried on. Have them on their hangers when I arrive, yes?" He straightened his tie and deepened his scowl. "Now, I'm going to browse the music department. At least there I can find some peace and harmony."

"Thank you, Martin. I think that is a very fair compromise indeed. I promise not to disappoint or embarrass you." She appraised him with a long, studied glance, came over to his chair and leaned into him. When her lips were in close proximity to his earlobe, she blew gently into his ear and whispered, "I promise to select something sure to peak your interest."

With that she strode off happily, leaving Martin to pick up the cheque and to salvage what remained of his dignity.

X X X X X X

It had been a very good day indeed. Louisa could not remember another instance when she had been so happy walking down the tree-lined street to her apartment building. She had been almost giddy as they strode together, chatting companionably, their arms full of shopping bags from the day's expedition.

Knowing it was silly, she felt like shouting to the trees and the windows of the old houses she passed by every day, telling them that, indeed, she too could be happy. That finally and after much work on both their parts, here he was, the source and proof of her happiness. That after months of somberly trudging down this street, head downcast, eyes averted from passersby, dreading another lonely night in her cramped bedsit, now she too had someone to go home with; she too had reason to celebrate.

It was an even better evening as they lay wrapped contentedly in each other's arms in her bed.

Yes, Denial and Avoidance can make us very happy for a time, allowing us to put off today what seems too painful to bear. But both, eventually, demand their price and they won't abide a refusal.

To be continued …


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty One

The downside of Denial is that you have struck a deal with the Devil. Eventually an uncomfortable price is extracted for its complicity. Denial eventually abandons us, typically after we have been lulled into a false sense of serenity. Usually when we least expect it and when our defenses are down.

Whatever was troubling us begins once again to nudge and chafe away until it makes our skin fairly bristle with unease. Like a petulant child, the troubling matter refuses to be ignored. Its voice grows louder until it can be avoided no longer. It must be addressed, soothed and placated if we are ever to get any peace.

Thus on Saturday morning Martin awoke with a jolt, heart racing, forehead perspiring. His sudden need to sit up jostled the sleeping Louisa off of his chest. The smooth silk of her purple chemise rustled as she slid down onto the sheets and beside him, still absorbed in her satisfied dreams. He watched as she repositioned herself onto her side, realizing that he had no alternative but to discuss with her today what he had avoided discussing since his return to London two evenings ago. He hoped the day would not turn into a battleground. Yesterday had passed so pleasantly.

To comfort himself he reached over to stroke Louisa's shoulder, letting his fingers slide down her soft upper back, tracing the indentations of the long muscles in her narrow shoulder blades until his finger tips reached the lace trim and silk. He grimaced fleetingly at the memory of Louisa expectantly holding up the two chemises for his ultimate approval yesterday afternoon.

X X X X X X

She had telegraphed to him with a provocative smile how pleased she was to have him there. He had responded with a pained expression, barely allowing himself to catch a glimpse of the two outfits she held in either hand. The fact that he was supposed to picture her naked, slender body encased in one of those skimpy outfits, was so far beyond his comfort zone that he could barely restrain himself from turning on his heel and storming out.

Then something Dr. Travers had once said flashed intermittingly through his brain: "Granted, you are both very different personalities. That won't make it easy to know how to please each other. The major decisions in your lives may involve considerable struggles to achieve compromises instead of stalemates. But it is really the day to day work that is going to be crucial for you both. Find little ways to make one another happy. If you cannot or choose not to do so regarding the little matters then neither of you will have the incentive or motivation to compromise on the major decisions. In fact, there will be little inducement for staying together at all."

They were standing alone at the back of the Nightwear and Lingerie Department, hidden away behind the high racks of bathrobes. Before Martin had arrived Louisa had asked the sales clerk to allow them their privacy. Martin once again examined Louisa's face: cheeks slightly flushed, eyes glistening, pupils dilated, attractive and attracting, waiting with blissful anticipation for his answer, A little thing that could make her happy.

He clenched both hands at his sides, fingers twitching anxiously. He willed himself to look again at those two senselessly expensive and impractical garments. Actually, they were in surprisingly good taste; not gaudy or tawdry, no tassles, no sequins. He chose the purple silk over the black satin because he thought it better highlighted Louisa's colouring. Payment had been swift and painless. The sales woman barely looked up at Martin when she took his credit card.

Alone in the elevator, Louisa had turned to Martin, face aglow. "Thank you," she murmured,

"I didn't mind paying."

"Yes, thank you for that but not just for that. For agreeing to be part of the whole thing". She moved closer towards him and said shyly,"For making me feel attractive … and … for making me feel desired … by you."

This baffled him. How could such a beautiful woman doubt her beauty? He lacked the insight to grasp that it mattered not to Louisa whether she was considered attractive by the world at large. She was in love with Martin and thus it mattered immensely to her that he, her one cherished man, find her appealing, desirable, alluring.

He was, however, able to look into her face and clearly interpret the pleasure so palpably etched there. He had made her happy and he discovered that there was great satisfaction to be found in that.

X X X X X X

After a late breakfast as they sat reading The Guardian and sipping their coffees, Martin decided to take the plunge.

"There is something we should discuss regarding my afternoon at the Royal Liverpool on Thursday."

"Oh? Right. I was wondering how it went. You never did say much about it." She put down her coffee mug on the coffee table and tucked up her legs behind her on the sofa so that she could face him, head resting on the elbow she placed on top of the pillow. She beamed at him, comfortably relaxed, pleased to be his confidante. Just like an old married couple, she mused.

"Everything went well," he lied to her face. "They just want me to start a little earlier than planned."

"Uh huh. How much earlier? She played suggestively with a strand of her hair, wondering mischievously whether there was time to seduce him before they set out for an afternoon at the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Martin fiddled with a cufflink. "A month."

That caught her attention. She stopped fiddling with her hair and sat bolt upright. "A month? But how are you to get ready in time? Close your practice? And we need to find a flat in Liverpool and –"

Martin held up a hand. "Calm yourself, Louisa. There is nothing to get excited about. Some minor adjustments to make, yes, but it all can be organized in time with sound and well considered planning." He proceeded to outline his plan, laying out all the reassuring sentences he had practiced, gently explaining that he would not require her services at Half Term.

She swallowed the immense disappointment that she would not be there on the day when he locked the Surgery door and bid goodbye to Port Wenn for a time. However given how eager Martin was to leave, it struck her that any tears being wept that day would likely flow only from her, not from him. She suspected he was secretly relieved at the prospect of not having her there when he gladly drove out of town.

She wasn't happy about any of this but knew that creating a fuss or argument would spoil what was left of their weekend and they had been getting on so well. If the hospital had asked Martin to start early and he was able and willing to accommodate his plans to do so then she felt she should support him. She conceded that these were his decisions to make, not hers. A small voice in her head said that perhaps the earlier he started on the research project, the sooner he would have it completed; then they could move on to the next phase of their lives together.

With most of Martin's possessions in storage in Liverpool and him living temporarily at an apartment hotel until at least November, she would not miss out on helping him move into his flat, even if she could only be there for a weekend instead of a week. It might not seem important to Martin but she wanted to be an integral part of the decision making: helping to choose the paint colours and wallpaper, where the furniture was placed, selecting the rugs and curtains.

Incidental this might be but it would be good practice for when they had to make the important long-term decisions concerning their home together in Port Wenn. She had already begun contemplating the type of house they would need: one with a large garden for their children to play in, overlooking the Harbour, with a large kitchen and a small study for each of them.

"But why?" He genuinely could not understand her request to participate in something as trite as the selection of a paint colour. "What difference can it possibly make to you how the flat looks? What matters most is if it is clean, the neighbours quiet, the location safe and reasonably accessible to the train station."

She felt that she had been more than patient with him this morning given the news he had sprung on her. She would not be dictated to or silent on this point.

"Because Martin we are a couple now and that's what couples do. They decide matters together and jointly, especially matters that will concern and affect them both. Besides, given the hectic schedule you will be keeping as a surgeon and researcher, I have a feeling that it will fall to me to do most of the shuttling between London and Liverpool. Moreover, I want to feel part of your life while we are living so far apart, not just a frequent weekend guest." She thought of the temporary complications that made up their life. "Between us we will have four homes, won't we?"

"Four?"

"Yes, your flat in Liverpool and the leased surgery, my bedsit in London and my cottage in Port Wenn."

"Ah. Right." He crinkled his nose. He had an idea he had been mulling over. There was no longer a need for Louisa to keep White Rose Cottage. It was impractical and stretching her finances. It was silly to hang on to it for purely nostalgic reasons. The money could be better spent put away in her retirement fund or whatever else she chose to do with it. But keeping a cottage in Cornwall to which she was likely never to return seemed illogical. If she wanted a small cottage in the country for weekends and her summer holidays, he would gladly consider buying her one closer to London, in a few years, when they were reaping the benefits of his surgeon's salary.

Her tenant, the new Headmaster of Port Wenn Primary, might like to buy her cottage and if not, certainly there were plenty of Londoners looking for summer homes. Such people were not adverse to paying skyrocketing prices for quant Cornish seaside properties. A small voice in Martin's head told him to shelve this idea for another day. No immediate decision was required and he surmised that Louisa would not take kindly to his suggestion. He appreciated that she was already unhappy about his accelerated moving date.

However there was one more matter to be discussed today and on this he would not keep silent. He would not show restraint. It was for her own good. It had irked him from the moment he had parked the car near Louisa's building on Wednesday evening. This claustrophoic little bedsit was totally unacceptable, unfit to be lived in.

X X X X X X

To be continued tomorrow …


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty Two

Granted, Louisa had made efforts to unpack and clear out the clutter of six weeks worth of mail but it had barely made a discernable difference in the overstuffed large room that was her bedsit. Her kitchen table doubled as her desk, the bookshelves were messy and spilling out. There was barely enough room for her sofa and matching chair in the centre of the room and it took only four of his strides before his shins knocked against her double bed.

He cleared his throat. "Given that we're discussing living arrangements this morning; I thought perhaps we might discuss your situation."

"My situation? What situation?" Whatever could he be referring to? He wasn't going to suggest again that she drop everything and move with him to Liverpool?

"Yes … er… your accommodations. As you observed earlier, it seems quite probable that of necessity you will be required to do the lion's share of the traveling between our respective residences on the weekends."

She nodded solemnly, "I understand that and accept it. It's a small sacrifice to make so that we can be together more often."

"Good. Thank you. I appreciate that." He did not look at her. He kept his voice and facial expression neutral, hoping to avoid this discussion deteriorating into an argument. "Perhaps then you would consider moving to a different neighbourhood; one closer to the Euston train station where you embark on your train for Liverpool?"

"Whatever for?"

"I would have thought it was obvious. So as to reduce your traveling time between your residence and the train station." Martin could not conceal a frown. Surely this was self-evident.

He spoke matter of factly, as if he were giving the results of an experiment. "I measured the period of time the other night that it took for me to arrive at your bedsit from the train station. Given the transfers and travel time on the Tube, it's quite a lengthy ordeal and that does not factor in potential delays or peak rush hour periods. Both of which are inevitable.."

"So?" She had that look plastered on her face, the one that foretold a storm was brewing. Her hands were clasped tightly together over her stomach. All thoughts of seducing him had vanished.

"Therefore, Louisa, if you didn't have to change lines, your travel time would be much reduced." The facts were blatantly apparent to him.

"Yes, Martin. I'm not an idiot. You don't have to spell it out for me." She could not discern his endpoint but she did not like the direction this conversation was taking.

"Uh … no." His efforts at diplomacy were failing. "It's just that I worry about you walking home from the Tube in the evening. It's a long distance from your Underground Station in this neighbourhood."

"No, it isn't. Only three streets. In London that's nothing. The high street has a Sainsbury's, a dry cleaner, a cashpoint and a number of quaint little restaurants and shops. We visited them only last night, remember? And what, might I ask, is wrong with this neighbourhood?" A chill had crept into her voice. Why did he have to spoil their last day together by being so critical?

"It doesn't appear safe to me. It's rather run down." He felt the tension rising in the room but he felt compelled to say what was on his mind.

"No, it isn't! There are charming older homes, Victorian and Edwardian, that have been converted into flats and small brick apartment buildings like this one. Lots of trees and little front lawns with beautiful gardens. There is a charming parkette up the street."

"It doesn't seem that way to me. Rather working class in appearance and atmosphere, as are the people I've spotted." She deserved better than this depressing area. London was full of charming neighbourhoods.

"Are you kidding?" she snapped. "This street is full of young families and older couples. It's charming; a lovely mix. You're such a snob, Martin. And in case you've forgotten, I come from a working class family."

"Louisa, your background isn't the issue," he bellowed. "I'm worried about you getting robbed at knifepoint, your purse stolen - or worse on your way home at night." Did she not understand that he was concerned for her welfare? That if he had it in his power to make her safe then he would do so.

"I'm not often out late except for parent-teacher nights. I don't have much of a social life," she added bitterly. Didn't he understand how lonely she was in London? That going to art galleries and movies by oneself wasn't always appealing. How she missed her nights out in the pub or dinners with friends in Port Wenn. There she was never forlorn.

"But you will be out late coming home on Sunday evenings from Liverpool!"

"Then I will take an earlier train!"

"Couldn't you find a more acceptable neighbourhood? I would be only too pleased to assist with your rent. I would sleep better at night. It's only for this year, until we sort out where we will be living. What about something in Central London? Or perhaps St. John's Wood or Maida Vale?"

"You can't be serious! I could never afford those areas. Yes, Tarlington Hall is giving me a raise this year commensurate with my new administrative duties but that would hardly pay the rent for a one bedroom flat in central or north London."

Furious, she stood up and went to stare out the front window. She had done her level best to be patient and understanding with the news he had sprung on her this morning. How dare he? "And I most certainly won't take a handout from you. And you needn't pay for my flat. I'm not your mistress!"

"Of course not. I wasn't implying such a thing!" That's not what he meant at all. "So because I make a good salary I have no right to worry about your safety and welfare. I am to be penalized, is that it?" Why did everything have to boil down to her becoming dependent on him? Why were so many of their arguments about that?

"That is just silly. I will live where I want, how I want. You will hardly be here long enough each month to even notice your surroundings." She spread out her arms to indicate the bedsit, thinking that the odds were that he would arrive late on Friday nights, sleep most of Saturday mornings and leave by early afternoon on Sundays. The visits would be fleeting and sporadic.

"Fine. If you refuse to listen to reason regarding this rundown, old neighbourhood, at least consider moving to a better building."

Oh? Yet another thing that you are unhappy about?" Her tone was icy. She was livid. "I have lived in this bedsit, this building and this neighbourhood since last Winter. You didn't bother to search me out and visit me anytime over those past nine months, did you? Suddenly you think you are entitled to an opinion just because you finally make one effort to visit!"

She sucked in her breath, surprised at herself. That had been below the belt. She had thought she had buried that particular resentment deep down or that it had dissipated when they had reunited. Maybe it resurfaced now because he was once again criticizing her life and her lifestyle. She couldn't help striking back.

"This building smells. There isn't even a bloody elevator!"

"Now you are just being ridiculous. Those smells are delicious cooking aromas. There are some wonderful cooks living here."

She put her hand to her forehead in exasperation. How were they ever going to live together if they couldn't agree on where they would live? "I don't mind there being no elevator. There weren't many elevators in Port Wenn. I enjoy the exercise. For Heaven's sake, I'm only on the third floor!"

"Your bedsit is small, dark and cramped."

"You just think so because you are six foot three."

"I just think so because it is small, dark and cramped."

"I've had enough of this conversation. I'm going to take a shower."

"Fine. I'll get dressed and walk down to the little store in the next block. You are out of milk and bread."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They retreated to their respective corners; two sparring partners taking a breather.

X X X X X X

To be continued …


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter Forty Three

One of the nice things about visiting a museum or a gallery is that one can go alone and still enjoy the experience. One does not require a companion to be present to view the exhibits, read the explanations or listen to the audioguide. In this respect, the selection of the Victoria and Albert Museum was an excellent choice for Martin and Louisa, who were barely speaking to one another by midday.

The weather was fine, the crowds surprisingly light for a Saturday afternoon, and the exhibits both informative and interesting. Nonetheless the afternoon was unpleasant. Louisa was standoffish and silent for the better part of the day, still stewing over Martin's criticisms. In part, she was hurt because she wholeheartedly believed she had done the best she could under difficult circumstances.

Finding living accommodation in a large city is relatively easy; there is ample choice. Finding it in an acceptable and safe neighbourhood close by to the subway system is much harder. Finding something suitable on a very tight budget in London is immensely challenging. Finding something acceptable, safe, near the Tube, cheap and ready to move into within six weeks was nigh on impossible. Still, Louisa had accomplished it.

She hadn't wanted to stay with Holly a day longer than necessary in December. Holly's second bedroom was small, her friends loud and her new beau obnoxious. Most of all, Louisa desperately wanted to be alone with her heartbreak, to nurse it, to feel unrestrained in her crying jags, to not have to bury her head in her pillow to muffle the sobs.

Thus Louisa was proud of her little bedsit. Not the physical space, which as Martin had correctly observed, was small, cramped and dark but the fact of it, what it symbolized; the independence and freedom it gave to her. No, neither the bedsit nor the four story walk-up brick building were the best of choices. She knew that. But the decision had been deliberate in order that she could afford to live in a pleasant, reasonably safe neighbourhood close to the shops, the Tube and only one transfer to the line on which her school was located.

Resentment still smoldered within her that Martin, who had not sought her out at any point after their non-wedding, who had not made a single trip to London to see her, was now so quick to criticize and ridicule the necessary frugality of her lifestyle. He questioned the judgment she had shown at a time in her life when just getting up to face the day had been a major feat of determination and perseverance. She resented his throwing money at the problem. She resented his telling her, in his most imperious tones, how to lead her life.

Martin was at a loss how to behave. From the signals Louisa had been telegraphing since this morning, it was blatantly obvious that she had neither welcomed nor appreciated his offer to pay. His intentions had been sterling. He was worried about her safety. He was distressed that she could not afford to live in a well-appointed flat. He was discontented that she had to travel long distances to her place of employment. He figured that her salary as a senior teacher at a high end girls' school was likely a reasonable one. However, the rents in London were unreasonable. Therefore if he could add to her comfort, ease her struggles with an infusion of money, he was only too happy to contribute.

He did not grasp that she had been equally as unhappy with the tone in which he had delivered his offer and his poor choice of timing. Could he not have waited until after this weekend? After this day when he had already sprung on her his plans to vacate Port Wenn a month early, when he had been initially unreceptive to her input in making his new flat a second home for them both?

X X X X X X

They had eaten an early dinner at a café near the Museum and were on their way home. They chatted intermittingly. That was an improvement over the rest of the afternoon when they had sparred sporadically. Martin was pensive, Louisa subdued. Neither quite knew how to salvage the remainder of the evening, not wanting to prolong the battle, not willing to surrender; both conscious of the waning hours before they said goodbye tomorrow.

They were halfway up the first block of Louisa's street when she halted abruptly in front of a grand old Victorian house. "There," she said, pointing defiantly to the sloped third floor and its small front balcony. "What do you think of that?"

"What would you like me to think?"

"Don't be childish, Martin. The house was completely gutted and renovated three years ago. The third floor is a one bedroom flat with, apparently, hardwood floors, lots of light and a working fireplace. Laundry facilities and a storage locker in the basement. The couple who live in the third floor flat are off to Dubai in mid-October."

"The management company that owns my building owns this one too. They told me about the flat when I went to pick up the mail they had been holding for me while I was in Port Wenn. They haven't advertised it yet, being selective about whom they want to fill the vacancy. The rent is fairly high and the couples on the second and main floor want their privacy and quiet respected. Evidently the management company thought that a spinster schoolteacher approaching middle age and with few visitors would make an ideal tenant."

Martin opened his mouth to protest the last statement but thought better of it.

"Anyway, I can look at it later this week if I want. They won't start advertising until September 1st. I will concede that my place is much as you described it this morning. Even I mind it a bit after spending almost six weeks at the Bosmans' spacious home."

She gave him a glint of a smile. "And, as it seems that I will be occasionally entertaining a rather tall gentleman caller on weekends, the least I can do is to offer him accommodations where he won't bang his shins every five minutes." Her face grew solemn. "Seriously, Martin, I want you to be comfortable and able to relax when you come stay with me. We'll have enough stress between our jobs and shuttling back and forth on weekends."

Martin wasn't satisfied. The situation still wasn't optimal. He surveyed the charcoal grey painted wood slats and the white gingerbread trim. No peeling paint. The front lawn was freshly cut and someone, probably a tenant, had been tending the large front garden. A one bedroom was a step up from a bedsit. Newly renovated likely meant new appliances and a fresher, cleaner environment. Plus it was three blocks closer to the High Street and the Underground Station for the Tube.

"Will you let me help with the rent?" he said gruffly.

"No. Thank you just the same."

"Louisa, I'm only concerned for your welfare."

"Thank you again. I appreciate that. Nonetheless, I can manage on my own."

"But it's still far from Euston Station." Why couldn't she see reason? Why couldn't she let him pay for her to live somewhere better?

"That wasn't a concern of mine when I chose this area."

"No, but it is now. I'm going to worry about you, particularly as the days are getting shorter. It's a long way followed by a long walk."

"But the only way I can afford a flat like this is if I stay in this neighbourhood." She chewed on a fingernail for a bit. "Okay, how about this as a concession? I'll take a taxi home from Euston Station on Sundays. You can pay for it. That will set you back a few pounds."

"Fine. I'd be happy to pay. And also a taxi to the station?"

"No. I'll be leaving directly from Tarlington Hall on Friday afternoons. A taxi would only get stuck in traffic. The Tube will be faster."

"No way that I can persuade you to consider a flat in north London? I know of a very good estate agent. I used him to sell my Kensington flat."

"No. So is it settled?" She answered brusquely.

"I guess it will have to be."

"Good. Let's call a truce then."

X X X X X X

Mr. Darcy was about to propose again to Miss Elizabeth Bennett and still Louisa could not keep her mind on the plot. One character had learned to overcome its pride and the other had learned to overcome its prejudice. A mutual understanding and balance between them had ultimately been reached. It was Louisa's favourite moment in Pride and Prejudice but she was too distracted to enjoy the beautifully filmed television program she had been attempting to watch for the past two hours. Her conscience was pricking her.

This was not the way to settle an argument. Yes, they both had won concessions from the other; both had established beachheads from which they had refused to retreat. The skirmish had ended without significant bloodletting or wounds inflicted. Why then did she feel so dissatisfied?

She admonished herself – was she already forgetting the lessons she had forced herself to learn last Spring? This style of quarreling, of battle lines being staked out, of weapons being drawn and burnished; the language of war, of scoring victories at the expense of the opponent's defeat, was this what she wanted with Martin for the rest of their days?

Squabbling and bickering were likely always going to be a facet of their relationship. They were both too strong willed for it to be otherwise. But could not their style be altered? Must their quarreling always be so contentious? Must one win and the other lose? Could they not instead learn to reason, debate and assert?

She switched off the telly and looked over at Martin engrossed in tinkering with the innards of her broken table lamp.

"Right. Enough. Okay. Martin, come sit by me on the sofa, please. I want to talk with you."

Martin glanced up warily. "Another few minutes and I might start to make some headway here."

"Leave the lamp. I'll buy a new one. It wasn't expensive. I think it's more important that we make some headway here instead."

Martin sighed heavily. More talking. At least with the lamp it lay there inert, waiting to be fixed. It was straightforward and predictable in its wiring. Human relationships were not.

To be continued …


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter Forty Four

Author's Note: It is a bank holiday weekend in Canada so here is an extra long chapter.

"Martin, I want to apologize for flying off the handle this morning and I need to explain why."

"You don't have to explain yourself further, Louisa. I accept your decision."

"Yes but that's not good enough. You should understand why I was so upset. Arguing isn't only about what is said but also about how it is said. When you and I argue I feel as though I am some inexperienced medical student that you, as Chief, feel it necessary to bellow at and berate. That only you know best, that you close your mind to the possibility that you have got it right and my opinion doesn't matter and has no merit. Maybe that's not your intention but that is how it feels to me." She was emphatic but not accusatory.

He recognized this and kept his voice level. "That's just the way I am."

"I know that. Whether you should speak like that to others is a separate matter for another day. I am your friend, companion and lover but I often feel as if I'm being steamrolled and flattened under the weight and force of your condescension. The consequence is that it gets my hackles up, puts me on the defensive and causes me to lash out at you. Soon we're knee deep in accusations, misinterpretations and wrong conclusions and we've lost sight of the subject we were thrashing out."

"What is it you want me to do? You argue from points of emotion instead of focusing solely on the facts. I find that frustrating. And whenever we do discuss a subject that you find remotely contentious, you jump all over my words then storm off."

"I do all of that. You're right. Perhaps I need to learn to do otherwise. We were making some progress in Port Wenn but I'm afraid that the strain of returning to London has led to a bit of a regression. Maybe we have to learn to stay calm, try to reason things out together instead of bashing at each other. That way we might actually better understand each other's point of view and perspective. When you bellow at me and I shout at you, the result is never satisfactory, is it?"

"Dr. Travers suggested that in such situations I take a time out. Take a few minutes or hours, if necessary, to cool off. Strain off some of the emotion."

Louisa wondered what that advice had to do with curing his haemophobia but she said nothing. What went on in Martin's sessions with his psychologist was none of her business unless he decided otherwise. "That's a good idea too. We tried it a few times in Port Wenn and it helped."

"Good." Martin stood up, eager to resume his tinkering with the lamp. Inanimate objects were far less complex to mend.

"Wait. There is one more thing that I need to get off my chest. I need to tell you why I was so hurt and angry with your opinion of my home. Maybe then you will understand my initial resistance to your push to get me out of this neighbourhood."

For several minutes she explained to him as calmly and forthrightly as she could how she had tried her best to create some sort of home for herself in London. She described in detail her fear and anxiety at having to re-establish herself all over again at age thirty-seven; single, bereft of family, fiancée and friends, worrying how to stretch out her salary and savings in one of the most expensive cities in the world. She poured out her sense of loneliness and longing for him and for home. How disappointed she had felt when they had arrived in London and he had, within minutes of viewing her bedsit and neighbourhood, belittled and disparaged how she had chosen to live her life.

Empathy wasn't something Martin Ellingham often felt for a fellow resident of planet Earth. In this circumstance it was inescapable. Louisa had told her story without guile or guise; there had been no intent to wound or inflict guilt. No accusations had been made, no anger directed at him. Her narrative had been heartfelt and honest; she had been unable to withhold either the quiver in her voice or the tears splashing onto her flushed cheeks. Her goal had simply been to make him understand the hell that December through June had been for her

When she finally finished her monologue there was silence in the room. Louisa caught her breath, pulled back the strands of dark brown hair that had fallen onto her face and wiped away the tears with her bare forearm. She was spent. Martin was quiet, processing both her words and the suffering he had witnessed in the soft green eyes.

She certainly hadn't intended it nonetheless he felt a wave of guilt washing over him. Guilt that she had suffered because of him, that she had felt it necessary to leave the village after their non-marriage, guilt that she had been so unhappy and deprived in London. For these things it was too late to make amends and as Dr. Travers had told him, these had been her choices, not his. Dr. Travers had also told him that guilt was difficult to assuage; remorse was more constructive. The past could not be changed but it could incite and spur him on to alter his behaviour in the future.

He cleared his throat, reached out with one large hand and stroked her cheek ever so gently. "Louisa, I … er …. apologize. You are right. I am not in an operating theatre when I am with you. And I didn't realize how hard things were for you here. I sort of assumed … that you were happy in London, had made a new life for yourself and were well rid of me and the mistake that would have been our marriage last November. My … clumsy efforts to offer you some financial … er… assistance were meant only to enhance your life here. If it is within my power … no, means … to do so, then, please, won't you let me help?"

"I see that now, Martin. In fact I was mulling it over all afternoon instead of taking in the museum exhibits. I too would like to apologize for misinterpreting your motivations and your actions. I'm not used to taking money from anyone. Frankly, you are not the first to make the offer."

Martin's eyebrows went up. She ignored this. She doubted he would be anything but jealous upon hearing what she had been offered in the past.

"But I see now that if we are going to be a couple we both have some adapting to do. I'm never going to make the salary that you do or will do. However I do fully intend to pay my way as much as possible. So yes, you can pay for my taxi fares when visiting you."

"And the train fares?"

"We'll see."

"At least allow me to buy you something for the new flat … if you decide to take it, that is. Maybe a new sofa?"

"There is nothing wrong with the two seater that I currently own."

"There is … for me. I can't stretch out on it. It's too small for me to take a nap on and that's something I might want to do on weekends after a long week of performing surgery. It's important for me to catch up on my sleep and the weekends will be the only chance of doing that."

"So it will be something useful as well as make you happy?"

"Exactly."

"Okay but I get to choose the colour and fabric," she said playfully. She was half teasing him, half relieved that they had resolved the matter to both their satisfaction.

"Right. Good." He stroked the inside of her forearm, where the skin was especially soft.

"Martin, there is one more thing that needs to be discussed so that you understand everything. I apologize for bringing it up after all this time but it partly contributed to my fury at you today and it merits a few more minutes of your time and then, I promise, no more for tonight or tomorrow."

"Go ahead then." He was weary and wary but could see how much better she already felt.

"When you began criticizing this morning where and how I live, it … uh … made me angry because from December until July it seemed that you couldn't care less about me … then suddenly you were back in my life again, when it suited you to be. This may be very unfair of me to say because I don't really know what you were going through from December through June but -".

She drew a very deep breath and took the plunge, "I mean you never sought me out during all that time, never telephoned or came to London to see me. And to be honest, I've always wondered, if I hadn't come home this summer, would you have ever tried to find me and try to talk things out or would you have left Port Wenn for Liverpool without so much as sending me a forwarding address?"

He sucked in his breath sharply. He hadn't been expecting this, not tonight. Maybe it would never come up. But it had. Right now. He could avoid it, skate around it or face it head on. "I did send those two cards," he said feebly.

"Yes and I cherish them. You saw them on my night table. But they never said more than that you wished me well. It wasn't much to go on, to help decipher what you were thinking about me." She clasped his free hand and locked eyes with him. She said earnestly, "Tell me honestly, Martin, when I wrote to you in May that I was coming home, did you give any thought to working things out between us? Would you have taken the risk if I hadn't initiated that first meeting between us?

Here it was. The moment of opportunity. Should he tell her about his sessions with Dr. Travers? That he had been working on more than just curing his haemophobia? That ever since she had written to him that she was coming to Port Wenn in July he had thought of little else, that he had permitted Dr. Travers to stretch out his emotions on a rack to the point of torturous agony. That it had finally been worth it when he had seen how she had responded to him.

"Of course I did, Louisa. I wanted to. I just didn't know how."

She was staring at him intently, searching his inscrutable face for a clue or sign as to what he was thinking and feeling.

"It's okay, Martin. I've dragged you through the emotional mud enough for one day and you've been very patient and very good. Perhaps the point is that one of us did initiate contact and the important thing is that we have found each other again – and for that I am truly grateful. And it's been very clear to me how hard you have worked these past seven weeks to make our relationship … well … blossom … and far beyond what it ever was in the past."

Still he said nothing. She knew him well enough by now to realize that he was conducting one of his internal audits, struggling to decide how to respond, how much to reveal without exposing his vulnerabilities. She stroked his arm reassuringly. "Really, it's okay. I understand."

Yet he knew that she couldn't possibly. Part of him wanted to tell her right now, at this very moment, to reassure her that he had done little else but think of how to reconcile with her. That the modifications she had witnessed in him, the alterations that warmed her heart were not all of his own doing. That he could not take full credit for what had happened.

But he couldn't possibly tell her. It was all too humiliating. That he who had been considered brilliant in prep school, in university, in medical school, he who had garnered the top prizes and awards, had consulted internationally on complex surgical cases, had saved lives in London and Port Wenn, that he wasn't clever enough to sort out his own life. That not even the wise words of Aunt Joan had been enough to guide him out of his depression and confusion.

That he had been forced to succumb to the wiles of a mental health professional to unscrew his head, clean it out and rescrew it on properly. That he still was dependent on that helping hand to help him sort things through; that a complete stranger was privy to the intimate details of their relationship.

Indeed. He very much wanted to tell her but the nagging little voice of doubt, the one that we all hear from time to time in our own heads, shouted stop. Don't do it. What a fool you will look if you do. She'll be furious that her privacy has been violated, she'll be let down by your weakness and human frailty, she'll wonder if you are the man she thought you were. So Martin held his tongue. The opportunity passed. Later, much later, he would deeply regret that it had.

Louisa kissed his cheek tenderly, rose from the sofa and walked to the sink to wash out her coffee mug. Shortly thereafter they went to bed. It was approaching eleven o'clock and Martin had a long drive ahead of him tomorrow.

There was a type of peace and satisfaction between them. Working together they had ridden out a minor storm, tacking and trimming the sails against the headwinds and rough waters, avoiding the sharp rocks that could damage their little boat. Tomorrow they would make a sea change, alter course into inevitably choppier waters but they felt more surefooted, more prepared.

Too exhausted mentally and physically after the labours of the day to make love to one another, instead they held each other close, imprinting this happy memory on their brains even as they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other.

To be continued …


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter Forty Five

Sunday morning came early to Martin and Louisa. That's what happens with time. It moves forward always at the same pace whether we perceive it to drag or accelerate, whether we dread or eagerly anticipate its progress.

Louisa awoke slowly, turning one languid eye unwillingly towards the electric clock: eight-twelve. Three hours until Martin left for his drive back to Port Wenn. Twenty six hours until she returned to work to prepare for the new academic year. Five weeks until Martin closed his general practice and became a surgeon again. Time was pushing along far too fast for her taste.

She heard the shower turn off. Martin was already in full preparation mode for his trip then. Unlikely therefore that she would be able to convince him to return to bed so that she could say goodbye to him properly. With a heavy sigh she pushed herself off of the mattress. She began to strip the duvet off the bed in order to put the sheets in the laundry basket for an afternoon wash after Martin left; busywork to take her mind off things. She halted her movement, deciding that she would wait a few days, allow herself more time to savour the smell of his skin on her linens, feel his body's indentation pressed deep into his pillow. These would be her compensation and comfort after his departure.

For the next two hours time passed swiftly. Martin was brisk and businesslike, keeping his mind narrowly focused solely on the task at hand. Goodbyes had never been his strong suit. The vast majority of his leave-takings had been unpleasant, cold, bleak experiences; the other party wanting to get them over with as soon as possible.

Except for Joan, of course, during his childhood visits to Port Wenn. While admonishing him to "keep a stiff upper lip" she herself had barely been able to hide her tears, alternately muttering curse words under her breath at his parents and consolingly patting his perspiring, clenched little hand. Martin remembered the time at age seven when he wet his pants prior to boarding the train bound for London. Too embarrassed and mortified to tell Joan, he had sat in stained, damp trousers until he reached home. No, goodbyes were best gotten over with as hastily as possible.

Louisa, sensing his reticence, kept her soppy emotions bottled deep inside as she made their bed, their breakfast and the sandwiches for Martin's trip. By ten-forty-five Martin had his suit bag, suitcase and Selfridges's purchases packed securely in the boot of his car. He had come back to the bedsit to say a terse goodbye.

"With any luck I should be back in Port Wenn by late afternoon, barring slow moving vehicles driven by dim witted tourists."

Louisa smiled wanly. How she wished she could go with him. "You'll telephone me when you get home, won't you?" She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her shorts, shuffled her barefeet and stared up at him wistfully.

"Why?" He frowned down at her, puzzled.

"Because that is what people do, Martin. They let their loved ones know that they have arrived safely at their destination so that person doesn't worry." Hadn't anyone ever asked him to do this before? Probably not.

"That makes little sense. If I am in a minor car accident, talking to you won't help me. The roadside automobile association would be a wiser choice. If in the event that I am involved in a serious road accident then Joan, as my next of kin, would be contacted. No doubt she would inform you within a reasonable period of time."

"Alright, forget I asked." She ignored her rising annoyance, not wanting to spoil their dwindling minutes together. She reached up on her tiptoes to softly kiss his cheek. "I'll miss you," she said forlornly.

This made little sense to him either. He was anxious not to become mired in sentiment now. He clenched his hands into fists, fingers twitching, a characteristic sign of his rising tension and discomfort. "But you will be back in Port Wenn on Thursday evening, less than five days away!"

Louisa tried again, hoping to make him understand the joy that their intimacy, their being a couple again, brought to her. "I know. It's just that we have been together quite a bit lately. Practically every day for the past two weeks, in fact. I know that I will miss waking up beside you." She pressed her palms onto his starched white shirt front.

"But you will be waking up beside me on Friday morning."

"I know that but it won't be the same, will it? I mean, most of the weekend will be spent starting to pack up your possessions. Monday morning I'll be back on the train for London. After that I will barely see you until you are in Liverpool. It's all going to be so different, isn't it?" She bit her lip to squelch the tears. Change was coming whether she wanted it to or not.

"If you want to prolong your time with me then move to Liverpool. I simply don't understand why you won't if this is how you feel about being separated even for a few days," he responded gruffly.

"Martin, we have been all through that. Let's not dredge up the old arguments again. I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that I will miss you, okay?" she removed her hands from his chest and slid them into her front pockets, shrugging her shoulders.

"Fine."

She had only meant to impress upon him the loneliness she would feel without him. Clearly it hadn't worked. He had foisted off her attempts at a lovers' parting. Following his lead, she had no choice but to let it drop, switch to safer, more impersonal topics.

"Anyway, I've got more than enough to keep me busy these next few days: making up the class timetables, preparing my lesson plans, conducting the new parents' tours. The Headmistress has got me doing three this week and one next Tuesday," she said proudly.

"I can't understand why they are necessary."

"The parents' tours? Most parents want to poke around, ask questions, and make certain that the school is acceptable and safe for their child. Parents whose daughters attend Tarlington Hall pay high tuition fees. They want to feel that they are getting value for their money. These tours are taken very seriously."

She was too modest to add what an honour it was to be selected to help out with the tours. It was a real vote of confidence by the Head. Being new to the school and with her country Cornish accent, Louisa hadn't harboured a hope that it would ever happen. The Headmistress, however, was shrewd. The "country" accent was more that cancelled out by Louisa's elegant good looks and her refusal to be intimidated by those parents who made it their objective to, in the most condescending of tones, let the teachers know how important and extraordinary they were, and by extension, so were their offspring.

There was an awkward lull in the conversation. Martin took the opportunity to place a brief kiss on Louisa's cheek. "Goodbye then. See you Thursday evening."

"Let me walk you to your car?" She flashed him a hopeful smile. She wasn't trying to be clinging or coy. She just wanted to prolong the time with him.

"No. No need. I can walk faster without you. It's almost eleven and I should stick to my schedule. He was afraid that she would start crying on the street. The public display would embarrass him. He could not abide her tears, not now when he had successfully averted an emotional goodbye. Best to keep the floodgates shut tight.

"Oh. Right. Well … goodbye." She went to throw her arms around him but it was too late. He was out the door in a flash.

Martin raced down the two flights of stairs quickly, barreling towards the Lexus. Abruptly he slowed down, uncertain why. His legs felt like lead. He could not compel them to maintain their previously rapid pace. He felt a lump in the pit of his stomach and his throat tightened involuntarily. Was it food poisoning? Perhaps a sudden flu virus was upon him? He made it the half block to his car, clutched the driver's side door handle and stood beside it, almost panting.

"This is bloody ridiculous," he muttered to himself.

The final chapter in Part Three of this story will be published shortly.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter Forty Six

Louisa shut and locked the bedsit door. Ten-fifty-six a.m. At least Martin would make his target goal for departure. The cramped room seemed empty and painfully quiet without his large presence. She walked over to the bed, sat down, cradled his pillow in her arms and hugged it to her face.

"You're making a fool of yourself, Louisa," she admonished. "It's a good thing that Martin isn't here to see how silly you are being." Nonetheless she continued to hold the pillow tightly; the faint, slightly musky smell of Martin's shaving cream pleasantly penetrating her nostrils, reminding her of the desire aroused when she caressed his smooth cheek with her lips and tongue.

Eventually she willed herself to get up and start gathering the dirty clothes and towels together for the laundry. As she did so, she endeavoured to cheer herself by remembering just how busy she would be this week: timetabling, tours, teaching preparations, viewing the flat down the street, packing for a long weekend in Port Wenn.

Her restless inattention was diverted from the matter at hand by the sight of Martin's three cards. She had moved them temporarily from the nightstand to the kitchen table at his insistence. The clutter had bothered him as much as the sentiment had embarrassed him. Louisa read his poem and felt her spirits lifting.

She reread the first lines again: "Somewhere I have never traveled before is the place where you have transported me." She trusted that, in some small part, this meant that she was adding joy and comfort to his life; he sorely needed both. She hoped he was benefiting from both the journey and the destination.

When her intercom buzzed fifteen minutes later, it startled her out of this reverie. The buzzer caught her unaware; she certainly wasn't expecting anyone. She glanced at her watch; Martin should be making his way out of the city by now. When she pressed the intercom button she was startled to hear his voice on the other end.

"Martin, whatever is wrong? Did you forget something?" She was alarmed by the urgency in his voice. He had been so determined to leave on time. What could have possibly made him return?

He bounded up the stairs and was already at her door, winded and catching his breath by the time she had briefly cast about the room for possible forgotten items. Before she could say anything, he thrust a small brown bag into her hands. She looked at him, puzzled, unsure what to make of it.

"Open it," he gasped as he strove to regulate his breathing. He shut the door behind him and pointed again at the bag. Nestled inside a small terracotta pot sat a little aloe vera plant.

Confused, Louisa peered up briefly at Martin. She wasn't certain what he expected her to do or say, what he intended. She peaked inside the bag again, surveying the thick, fleshy, spiky green leaves casting out in all directions. She rubbed the fleshy pad of her index finger along the small, white teeth on a leaf margin.

"It's an A Vera, an aloe vera. It's a succulent plant." He was looking at her expectantly.

"Yes, I know." Was this for her? Or was he taking it to Port Wenn?

"I thought it more practical than a bouquet of cut flowers. Flowers wilt and die within a few days. This plant will survive for years if you tend it properly. Don't overwater and keep the sandy potting soil well drained. It shouldn't require watering while you are away visiting me on weekends."

He fretted for a moment then said in earnest, "Ideally it requires bright, sunny conditions. Your side window gets some afternoon sun, hopefully enough to prove adequate. Maybe I should have bought the African Violet instead. "Still," he went on more optimistically, "if it can survive the next couple of months until you move to the new flat, it should be alright. You mentioned that there is plenty of sunlight there."

Louisa finally twigged to the fact that the plant was a parting gift for her. They had both treated each other to concerts and dinners out but as to gifts, the only one she had received from him was the engagement ring which had scarcely been in her possession a mere twenty eight days before she had returned it. She was deeply touched by what this gesture portended.

"This is a very thoughtful gift. Thank you."

The corners of Martin's mouth curled upwards in a half smile, pleased that the emotional risk had been well received and rewarded. He had worried that she would consider him foolish or silly, whether she would comprehend what he was at a loss to express in words, whether such a small and inexpensive present was an adequate way to demonstrate the unanticipated crushing sense of emptiness and loneliness he had experienced after leaving her flat.

He needed to assure her that the present was practical as well as beautiful. "The data is mixed but some studies do indicate that the aloe vera does promote faster healing of first and second degree burns. If you receive a mild burn while cooking, just snap off the end of a leaf and rub the exuding gel onto the aggrieved area after washing it thoroughly first. Anything beyond a minor burn should be treated by a doctor, preferably at an A & E."

He ran the back of his index and middle fingers gently down the soft, alabaster skin of her forearm. "Promise me that you would see a doctor immediately, if required?"

Louisa smiled up at him, understanding the subtext. She knew all about the healing properties of aloe vera. They had kept one on a window sill in Port Wenn Primary for the Year Fours to tend as part of their indoor herbal and folk medicine garden. She had been previously unaware of the soothing and healing properties that it could have on the human heart, as it was having now, for the human heart, too, is a living thing requiring nourishment.

"Sometimes, Martin, you leave me quite speechless."

"Is that a good thing?"

"In this case, yes. What made you come back?"

"You seemed rather … emotional … when I left. I thought perhaps this would make you feel better. I remembered that the little store on the next corner carried bouquets of precut flowers and small houseplants. I saw them when I went to buy you milk and bread yesterday morning,"

"This was a lovely thing to do. Brilliant." She reached over and took the back of his right hand into her hand and led it towards the left side of her chest. She pressed his palm forward until it came to rest gently upon her heart. He felt the steady beats. She murmured, "You gladden my heart, Martin Ellingham."

Thus on a steamy August Sunday in a cluttered bedsit, in a non-descript brick four storey walk-up, on a pleasant, tree-lined street, in a revitalized suburban neighbourhood, in the great old city of London, the emotionally inhibited Martin Ellingham learned a valuable lesson. It was a lesson that could not be read in a scholarly book, heard in an academic seminar or downloaded from the internet.

Martin learned that partings, while often tinged with sadness, do not always have to be excruciatingly painful. That there is a difference between being lonely and being alone. That if he carried always Louisa Glasson's love for him in his heart and if he was prepared to nurture and tend to it, he would never be alone again.

End of Part Three

Author's Note: Part Four to continue later this summer. How much should one person give up for the person they love? How much should that other person allow them to do so?

Thank you to all those who continue to read and review this story. It is a pleasant journey to take with you.


	47. Chapter 47

PART FOUR OF RESOLUTIONS

Chapter Forty Seven

Wednesday, 12:06 - 12:08 p.m. – Martin:

"Louisa Ellingham." It rolled nicely off the tongue. A mellifluous first syllable ending with a pronounced finish. There was elegance to it, a refinement absent in the more provincial and proletariat sounding "Glasson". Besides there was an abundance of distinguished history behind the prestigious Ellingham brand, a long line of eminent surgeons and medical specialists. Not much to recommend the hereditary Port Wenn line of Glassons: a postman grandfather, a thieving gambler father, an absentee adulterer mother.

Martin was quite satisfied with the potential behind what would become Louisa's new surname. He would ask her to consent to making it her own over the Christmas holidays. He wasn't much for romance but a Yuletide engagement would cap off what had been an excellent summer and what portended to be a fulfilling and exciting Autumn.

Today nothing could spoil his rare good humour, hence the willingness to permit his mind to wander lackadaisically into this daydreaming. A full smile lit up his face. No smirk or grimace as per usual. It was a full fledged grin in keeping with the celebratory tone of his day.

It was an auspicious day, a momentous day. One that he had hardly ever allowed himself to dream would come to fruition. Today he was leaving Port Wenn for good. He would return for occasional holiday visits to see Joan, of course, but today marked the end of his permanent residendency in this horrid tourist trap of a village.

Since childhood, Life had taught him a cruelly repeated and nasty lesson: never ask for or expect much because you weren't going to get it anyway. A moment's happiness was fleeting, an achievement was soon dashed, a wish morphed into a nightmare. Today, the last Wednesday in September, was proving the rare exception in Martin Ellingham's life. All he had to do was shift the transmission into Drive and accelerate out of his four year long purgatory as a lowly, unappreciated general practitioner in an isolated, backward backwater. He would leap forward into the promise of an intellectually stimulating and scientifically rewarding career. He relished the engaging environment of a teaching hospital in a bustling city.

It hadn't all been a nightmare. He had saved a considerable number of lives and repaired countless misdiagnoses resultant from the inept incapability of his predecessor, Dr. Jim Sims. He was innately proud of all this. The Ellingham practice had been clean, run within acceptable National Health budgetary guidelines, recently experienced a 7% upswing in patient visits and the lowest mortality rate of any Cornwall surgery.

All of this paled in comparison to what he had really achieved in Port Wenn. He had reestablished his relationship with his favourite aunt after a misunderstanding that had ceased communications for many years. Even more remarkable, he had fallen utterly in love with the first female villager he had met. Now that woman would be waiting for him when he arrived tonight at her bed-sit in London.

The moving van was already rolling down the hill away from his surgery. He had better get a move on. He watched as his possessions continued on ahead and away from him. It would be another six weeks at least before they would be placed into the Liverpool flat he had rented. He was not looking forward to staying at a downtown apartment hotel in the interim.

Gently accelerating, the Lexus began its descent, possibly for the last time, past the Large Restaurant, the Platt, the gaudy tourist traps, the overpriced and understocked local stores, past the cottages of the squinty eyed, pinched faced, unhygienic lemmings of Port Wenn. Martin's smile continued to broaden.

X

Wednesday, 12:09 – 12:16 p.m. - The Residents of Port Wenn:

It was an auspicious day for the residents of the stunningly picturesque village of Port Wenn. Those close enough to see through the driver's side window or windshield of the Lexus were treated to a most astonishing and unforgettable sight – their Doc Martin was actually smiling. So used to his scowling, sneering ways were they that this came as a great shock.

Although he barely made eye contact with any of them, even the ones smiling back at him and enthusiastically waving, it was universally concluded at the pub in the evening that the Doc must have been rather sad to leave. Perhaps all these years he had simply been too embarrassed and shy to demonstrate his affection for them. His patients erroneously interpreted his smile as a fond farewell, pleased to think that their winning ways had worn off on him after all.

X

Wednesday, 12:18 – 12:20 p.m. – Louisa:

Louisa glanced anxiously at her watch for the third time since noon. She had planned to finish her marking over this lunch hour but she was far too distracted to concentrate. No doubt he had stuck rigidly to his schedule and was by now passing the "Welcome to Port Wenn" sign as he and the moving van gradually made their way towards the A39. Perhaps in the end it was better that she wasn't present today. She would see him tonight when he arrived at her bed-sit before heading on to Liverpool in the morning. She would follow him there on Friday evening, ready to help with the marketing, adding any little touches she could think of that would help make his hotel suite a more comfortable home for the next six weeks.

No, it was much better that, in the end, logistics had worked out as such that the transfer needed to take place in mid-week. Even now, hundreds of miles away, she could barely quell her dejection that this day had finally arrived.

She had nursed beyond sheer logic the unrealistic hope that Martin would uncharacteristically experience a last minute change of heart; that he would somehow relent of his decision to resign as Port Wenn's lone general practitioner. She had finally, after years of searching, found the right man for her only to realize that his basket of happiness contained none of the same items as hers.

She comprehended completely Martin's need to prove himself, to jump astride again the horse from which he had fallen. She resolutely supported him in his quest to regain what he thought he had lost, to be a high ranking surgeon in an eminent hospital again. Until he could prove that he could do it, they couldn't really move forward with their lives. Yet at her very core she could not deny that the she was supremely disappointed.

It was no good continuing to ruminate. The die had been cast, resolutions had been made. But a year was a very long time indeed …

X

Wednesday, 12:10 p.m. – Lindsay:

Lindsay put down the coffee mug as she watched the moving van and the Lexus depart Martin's surgery. From her table at the Large Restaurant she could barely see the top of the silver sedan as it wound its way down the hill. It was an inauspicious day for Port Wenn; losing the best diagnostician and skilled physician it was ever likely to see. While he may have had the most appalling bedside manner and social skills of any health care practitioner in the entire West Country, he was also one of the most dedicated, never shying away from an emergency no matter the time of day or night or the inconvenience to himself.

It was not only the loss of his medical skills that suffused Lindsay with a type of morose. She wished that Martin had been better able to appreciate Port Wenn's merits rather than exclusively counting up its flaws. Maybe then instead of solely perceiving the village as his purgatory and personal punishment, he would have been better placed to acknowledge it as his salvation.

So many good things had happened to him here: he had discovered that he could be more than a surgeon, that he was good at something else, he had been given the time and distance with which to cure his haemophobia, he had relearned the value of positive family ties with his aunt. Most importantly, he had met a woman who willingly would and could give him the love, understanding and support he so desperately craved.

Sadly Martin had failed to appreciate the natural beauty and solitude of this coastal fishing village. He had scorned any and all efforts by the inhabitants to enfold him. He had rebuffed with his usual animosity their communal sense of family, neighbourliness and inclusion.

Not that Lindsay blamed him for any of it. For a social recluse like Martin, it must have been torture to be surrounded daily by the probing gossip hounds. To be a continual source of scrutiny and inquisition, particularly regarding his tumultuous relationship with a popular and prominent resident, must have grated on him excessively. He had come here to hide and found no respite. It was no wonder he was ready to bolt as soon as he was able.

Lindsay could sympathize with his stunted professional growth. Much as she enjoyed her private practice, she needed her clinic days in Truro to reduce her sense of professional isolation and to augment her intellectual development. Martin attended medical conferences sporadically, had written nothing in over five years and had few if any peers with which to discuss medical advancements – apart from Mrs. Tishell.

Why did he have to be so bloody close-minded about everything? Why did he always have to believe that he knew what was best for himself and everyone around him? She had been so frustrated with him on Monday evening when she attended him in his office for their final patient conference before the transfer of his medical notes to the locum. The conversation had gone smoothly; their professional rapport a good one as usual, each respecting the other's judgment and skills.

When the conference was finished, Martin held up two textbooks on the psychosocial development of adolescents. He offered them to her as a parting gift, saying that he would no longer require them. It was a rare thing to receive a present from Martin Ellingham. She felt honoured.

"Perhaps you would prefer to store them away until … in case … you restart your practice again next year?'

"Unnecessary. The likelihood of my returning is minimal. Please accept the books as a parting gift."

"But Louisa … "

"What?"

"She's hoping for the possibility of your return."

"Once she realizes what London can offer us both, she will begin to view things differently. She's only been back there five weeks. She needs to acquire an open mind."

"As do you." She had put her foot in it, no doubt about it. Regardless, she was determined to say something. It might be her last and only chance. She had little to lose and possibly Martin had some insight to gain.

"Pardon?"

"Maybe Louisa sees things differently because she's peering out of a different lens … because she wants different things. Maybe her version of happiness isn't the same as yours?"

"I appreciate that you and Louisa are good friends, Dr. Goldman however –"

"Surely now that our professional relationship is in abeyance, you could call me Lindsay?"

"I appreciate that you have Louisa's welfare at heart but I am not insensitive to her needs. If you are going to join the swelling chorus of Port Wenn whingers complaining to me about Louisa's wanting to return here …"

"No, you are quite right. I'm sorry if that's the way it sounded. I know you care deeply about Louisa and want only the best for her. I only meant that living in a nice flat in central London –"

"I cannot afford a house if that is what you are implying. It would be far too expensive and anyway, what would we do with all that extra space?"

Trust Martin to get the wrong end of the stick.

" Have a baby. Or two." Well, it was out there now. She had felt compelled to say it. She had overstepped the boundaries he had always placed between them; he had never shown any interest in becoming her friend. He would probably throw her out as punishment for her bluntness.

"Ah." Martin was stone-faced, shutting down completely. His fingers twitched open and closed repeatedly. "It's really none of your business, Dr. Goldman." He stood and walked over to the door of his office.

At least he was showing her some forbearance, enough to take another stab at it, maybe? "No, it isn't."

"No."

"I should go. You must have a lot of packing to finish up." She couldn't quell her mounting frustration. This was her last chance to say something. Their paths might never cross in the coming year.

"Yes," he said, still standing politely by the open door.

She burst forth, allowing the thoughts to spill out unfiltered. "Allow me this one indulgence and then I won't darken your doorstep again. Louisa does confide in me. I think in order to resign herself to living in London –"she stopped, realizing that he was looking down at her sharply. Well, it was the truth, wasn't it?

She started again, unable to abate the pleading tone in her voice. "I meant to say, possibly Louisa would feel more settled in London if the two of you started a family. It's something she's always dreamed of, to be a mother. She'd be a natural at it. It would provide her with a great sense of fulfillment. "

She could think of nothing else to say. She stuck out her hand. Martin shook it weakly, barely making contact with her fingers. "I'm sure that you both will be very happy", she said, unable to muster any conviction in her voice and not believing it could be true, the way things now stood.

"Yes."

She left quickly, not wanting to look at him again, feeling that she had failed and forgetting to take the textbooks.

X

This story continues tomorrow ….


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter Forty Eight

There was an edge to his voice that she did not like. It was tighter than usual, more clipped and curt. He was even more parsimonious with his words than was typical; therefore she could not discern in his replies what was bothering him. Yet somehow she felt he was withholding something vital. He gave out no clues. That had been on Thursday evening when she had telephoned to ask about the weekend's weather and any particular activities that he had planned for them. She needed to know what to pack.

Martin had abruptly told her not to come. Louisa had been surprised; it had taken her ages to convince him to buy a large floor rug for what would be the entry hall of his new flat. This was to be the weekend they blitzed the better carpet stores to find it. Martin claimed he was too tired. It had been his first full week back in the surgical theatre and he told her that he had forgotten just how physically demanding it could be.

He mumbled something about being five years older and less fit than he used to be. She couldn't reconcile those facts. Four years of climbing the hills of Port Wenn, the sea air and fresh food had made him a far healthier specimen than the pale and pasty man he had been upon arrival.

All Friday Louisa fretted about that telephone conversation. Since settling in Liverpool three weeks ago, Martin had become increasingly more tense. This was a far cry from how he had acted on the Wednesday night when he had stayed with her after exiting Port Wenn and the following weekend. Then he had been in excellent spirits; confidant, invigorated, optimistic.

On Friday evening she telephoned again to see if he had changed his mind about her visit. He was even more insistent than the day before that she stay in London. He explained that he felt a cold coming on. His voice didn't sound husky or nasal. He didn't sneeze or cough once during their brief conversation. If anything he sounded more tense and terse.

This worried her more than ever. Whenever Martin shut her out it signaled that something was seriously wrong. At least when it had happened in Port Wenn, she had consoled herself with the hope that he would discuss it with Joan or if it was something medical, contact Chris. In Liverpool there was no one. Three weeks wasn't sufficient time to develop close friendships and in Martin's case she doubted whether three years would do the trick. He was more likely to shut himself away and pace the confines of his hotel suite all weekend.

Louisa tried to heed his warning and stay away. She convinced herself that not going to Liverpool was actually a good thing. She had a mountain of marking to finish up before next week's Half Term Break. Working all weekend would provide her a chance to clear away most of it and possibly get more boxes packed up prior to her move to the new flat at the end of the month.

It was no good. At eight-thirty she gave up attempting to mark the history papers on the War of the Roses. She was simply too distracted to devote the concentration they merited. At nine she debated with herself whether to call him again with the excuse that she wondered how he was feeling. He had told her not to do so, explaining that he was going to bed early. She took him at his word. She paced her bed-sit from wall to wall. It was deeply unsatisfying; there was barely enough room to stretch her legs. No wonder Martin thought it cramped.

She made herself a cup of tea which she didn't drink. At nine-thirty she switched to packing up the remainder of her bookcase. At midnight she had sufficiently tired herself out to warrant going to sleep.

At seven-fifteen on Saturday morning she awoke with a start, mistakenly thinking she had heard her mobile ringing. She checked it for missed calls, texts and emails from Martin. There were none. She ate breakfast because she had to; she hadn't eaten much dinner the night before because the butterflies in her stomach simply wouldn't hold still.

She flipped open her laptop to read the morning's digital version of the newspaper but she was too listless to pay attention. After reading the lead article three times without taking any of it in, she shut the lid. If she didn't hear from him by ten o'clock, she resolved to call him. She chewed on a fingernail, her eyes focused on her mobile, willing it to ring. It did not.

By nine-fifteen she had showered, dressed and packed another box. In the next twelve minutes she thrice checked her mobile for texts and emails. At nine-thirty she re-opened her laptop and searched for seat availability on the early afternoon train to Liverpool. At nine-forty she could no longer resist the urge to call him. There was no answer. That shouldn't be. If he was sick or tired, he should be at home in bed. He had told her not to call in the morning because he planned to sleep in. Maybe he had switched off his phone in order to sleep? That had to be it. She called again and left a message for him to call her.

When she did not hear from him by ten-thirty, she tried both his mobile and the suite telephone. Maybe he was too ill to answer the phone, maybe it wasn't a cold but a serious infection he had picked up in hospital. Weren't surgical wards full of infection? Maybe he had contracted a case of that MSRA like Beth Saule had done when she had been in hospital for her knee surgery. Hadn't she almost died? Maybe he was unconscious. She booked herself a seat on the next train and threw a few things into her weekend travel bag.

X

Using her key card to let herself into the suite, she called out his name, trying to mask the apprehension in her voice. She had tried to contact him when she disembarked from the train. Still there had been no answer. Martin emerged from the bedroom, face pale and haggard, deep smudges under his eyes, shirt and pants wrinkled. Had he slept in them? Her instincts had been correct. Something was wrong. He didn't look sick. Shell-shocked was more like it.

She let go of her suitcase handle, dropped her purse and rushed over to throw her arms around him. He didn't return the embrace; instead she felt his muscles stiffen. Never a good sign.

"Louisa, what are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you, Martin. You weren't answering your mobile or the suite phone."

"I told you that I wouldn't. I was trying to rest."

"It doesn't look as if it's working."

"Uh … no."

"Have you eaten today?"

"No … not yet. I explained to you that I felt a gastrointestinal flu coming on."

"You told me it was a cold."

"Is that why you came here? To interrogate me?" He cried out sharply, pushing her away. He turned towards the bedroom.

"Of course not." His tone made her nervous. His way of dealing with something particularly anxiety inducing or dreadful was to turn combative and defensive. She intentionally softened her voice. "I came because I was concerned about you. That's what people do when the other person sounds like they're ill or something bad has happened. You sounded somewhat shaky on the phone the last two nights."

"I'm fine. I said that I didn't feel up to carpet shopping this weekend. I asked you twice to stay away."

"Sorry. The last thing I wanted was to further upset you. Would you rather I go?"

X

This story continues next week …


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter Forty Nine

**Author's Note: This story has been chugging along for exactly one year as of today. Thank you to all the loyal readers, new and old, for putting up with the various stops and starts.**

"Leaving now would make no sense. You just got here. Provided you could still get a seat on the evening train, it would most probably be full of drunken louts and hormonally supercharged, rowdy teenagers. I'm most certainly not having you ride the Tube on a Saturday night and walking the three blocks through your wretchedly unsafe, slum of a neighbourhood."

"Martin, you needn't be so nasty."

"Sorry," he replied gruffly, "I'm not in the mood for company today."

"I'm not company and you needn't entertain me."

It wasn't much of a welcome. In fact, it was no welcome at all. To be grudgingly tolerated wasn't what she had anticipated. How long had she known him? How well did she know him? Certainly long enough to understand that he never tolerated people investigating his feelings, particularly when he was in turmoil. But she also knew that he was acutely distressed and that if she did not drill down into him, bore down until she found the source of the trauma, it would fester and grow within him.

"So it's past three o'clock and you haven't eaten anything yet?"

"I had a cup of coffee."

"Right. I had a ghastly ham and cheese sandwich on the train for my lunch. Stale bread, dried ham and processed cheese slices. How about I fix us something proper to eat? Unless you'd rather go out for a bite?"

"No!" he shouted. When she raised her eyebrows in surprise at the outburst, he modulated his tone. "Let's eat here. Here would be fine."

"Okay. Why don't you sit down? I'll rustle up something."

"Just dry toast and coffee for me." He rubbed his hands together, over and over.

"You have to eat more than that. You are always lecturing me to eat properly. Did you have any dinner last night?"

"Some leftover tuna salad and a glass of water." He clenched his jaw shut at the prospect of having to endure more food.

She kept an eye on him while she prepared the sandwiches. He didn't seem able to keep his attention on anything, couldn't sit down, couldn't stop fidgeting. Whatever was bothering him, it must be dire.

While they slowly nibbled away at their sandwiches, neither very hungry, Louisa prattled on about her week, keeping the subjects light, not giving his mind opportunity to wander. She could see and feel him relax marginally. His eyelids began to droop and he stifled the occasional yawn.

"Did you get much sleep last night?" she asked, already guessing the answer.

"Not really."

She eyed him carefully. "What about Thursday night?"

"Not much. He looked lost, betwixt unsettled and uncertain.

"I didn't get much sleep either, "she lied. "Stayed up till two o'clock marking a bunch of Year Five essays. Would you mind if I took a short nap, since we're not going out?"

"Sure. I'm afraid the sheets are in need of cleaning. I planned to do that later today," he lied back.

"Oh, that's alright," she replied with false cheerfulness. "I can pop them in your washing machine before we go out to dinner."

Martin insisted on clearing the table, throwing his half eaten sandwich into the garbage before she could protest. At least he had eaten and drunk something. It was a start.

She went into the bedroom. This wasn't like the meticulous Martin at all. The duvet was thrown back and half way onto the floor. The sheets were crumpled, almost mangled into a ball in the center of the bed. The pillows were askew. One had fallen onto the floor. The scene resembled the aftermath of a particularly passionate session of their lovemaking. Unfortunately that was not the reason for this particular dishevelment. There was no sign of his pajamas either. He must have slept in his shirt and trousers as she had surmised. Quickly she made up the bed and plumped the pillows. She heard the kitchen taps turn off. Martin appeared in the doorway.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked tentatively.

Only for you to tell me what's bothering you, she thought but felt disinclined to say. "No, thank you." She lay down on one side of the bed and smiled up at him. "Mmmm … this feels nice. It's a lovely soft mattress, isn't it? I liked it from the first night we slept here."

"I think the softness is derived from the plush mattress cover. I checked the mattress that first night. It has sufficient firmness as not to jostle the spinal column. Not to worry, I do check the sheets and mattress weekly after the maids have changed the linen. Zero sign of bed bugs."

"Oh, good. Thank you." She watched him carefully as he continued to stand awkwardly in the doorway; lips tightly clamped together, jaw rigid, arms folded defensively across his chest.

"Taking a nap on a weekend isn't something I normally make a habit of but this has been rather a busy week between packing and preparing for final week before Half Term Break. I think it will do me good, even if only for an hour."

"It's not a good habit to fall into. Otherwise it disrupts your nocturnal sleep patterns and confuses your circadian rhythms. However for occasional bouts of insomnia it may be used to supplement the recommended seven to eight hours. Helps to maintain alertness levels and –"

"Yeah. I know." She shot him her most soothing smile, patted the space beside her and issued the invitation. "Care to join me?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Um …. " He shuffled his feet and kicked the carpet.

"Okay … well, you know where I am. I'll see you later."

"Right." He closed the door behind him.

She sat up as soon as he was out of the room and ran a nervous hand through her hair. She was uncertain what to do about him. He was barely tolerating her presence. She couldn't fathom the cause of his distress. There was no reason why any of this could be attributed to her behaviour.

In the three weeks since he had arrived in Liverpool, this was her third weekend spent here. She had been careful not to overreact or respond to his growing snappishness which she had attributed to the stress of starting a stressful job in a stressful environment. She had endeavoured to be patient with his lack of free time and preoccupied immersion in his new job. She had held her tongue whenever he expressed his pleasure at leaving behind Port Wenn and the life of a GP; all things which Lindsay's books on conflict resolution would have instructed her to do during this transition period. Whatever was bothering him, for once she played no part in it.

She lay back onto the pillow, turning on her side to face the window. She decided it best to stay here for awhile, feigning sleep. Better to let Martin have some time to himself to adjust to her presence. She heard the washroom toilet flush and the washroom faucet turn on. Shortly thereafter the bedroom door opened slowly. Martin came in, making efforts to do so silently, his shoes left in the washroom. Quietly he slipped onto the king sized bed, lying down on the far right hand side, away from her.

Louisa, pretending to slumber, rolled languidly onto her other side and closer to him. She stretched out her fingers and palm and laid them lightly on the small of his back. In a few minutes she heard his breathing slacken and felt his muscles uncoil. He was sleeping. She, in contrast, continued to lie awake, gently stroking his back, trying to soothe away whatever was worrying him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

He couldn't believe he had slept two hours without interruption. The sleep had been deep, peaceful and dreamless. How much of that could be attributed to the woman dozing beside him he could not measure but it must have been substantial considering the amount of tossing and turning he had done this week. He almost reached the point where he had become afraid to sleep; the nightmares had been that vivid.

Nonetheless, he still wished she had not come. They had avoided it so far while she tended to the priorities of coaxing him to sleep, rehydrate and take sustenance but he knew Louisa and shortly she would want to talk, to pry him open.

He avoided any immediate discussion by agreeing to have dinner in a small restaurant down the street from the hotel. He would have much preferred to stay in; making use of the appliances in his small kitchen but that would have provided an opportunity for Louisa's inquisitiveness to rise to the fore.

At the restaurant he knew he was more brusque and impatient than was typical for him but he couldn't help it. He did not want to be there. When Louisa started to peruse the dessert menu, he had snapped at her, saying there was little nutritional value in any of the items. He would cut some cheese and apple for her when they returned to his hotel. In response, Louisa's jaw thrust out but she had clamped her lips shut and kept the peace. He doubted it would be for long; he recognized the warning signs.

As soon as the door shut behind them in the suite, Louisa turned on him, throwing her purse and coat onto the sofa. "Right. I've had enough! What the hell was that?"

"Pardon?"

"Kindly explain to me why I wasn't allowed to order dessert?"

"Because I didn't want to stay any longer in that noisy, pretentious, mediocre hole of a restaurant!"

"There was nothing wrong with my meal and the atmosphere was quite nice. There was certainly no acceptable reason for you to terrorize that scared, young girl attempting to wait on our table. Would you finally like to explain to me exactly what is bothering you?" she demanded. Her patience and acquiescence were at an end. No more forbearance.

"No, I would not!"

"What? Whyever not?"

"Because it's a professional problem."

"Professional?"

"Related to my work at the hospital."

Uh huh. She thought so. But this was more serious than an argument with a new colleague. Martin would have barely registered that as a disturbance. "Has something happened? Aren't they pleased with your work?"

"Yes, everything is satisfactory so far. They don't know about the problem but it's bound to surface sometime soon."

"What problem?" She was endeavouring to be lenient with him but they were going round in circles. Why couldn't he be straightforward? Why did it always feel like she was chasing him down? "Come on. Spill."

"Louisa, it's nothing. I'll figure it out myself. It's none of your concern."

"Not my concern?" she blurted out, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Martin, of course it's my concern. You look terrible, can't eat, can't sleep, can't settle. You were so restless and fidgety in the restaurant that I thought you might explode." She stared him full on in the face. "I love you. You are my partner and hopefully, if the stars ever align properly, my husband. That not only means that I worry and care about you but that entitles me to know when something is seriously wrong with you. Otherwise how am I to help?"

"Okay then. Since you insist. Anything for a quiet life." He was almost petulant, like a naughty school child forced to admit a wrong. "It's my haemophobia. It appears that it … just might … possibly … not … be fully cured."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This story continues tomorrow ….


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter Fifty

"Are you certain? How do you know? Are you having symptoms again?"

He fidgeted, turning away from her. "Martin, please tell me," she implored. She was doing her best to stay calm. She appreciated that he was under great strain, a strain that was generating irritability and transforming into anger. She could hear that it was inhibiting his ability to communicate with her. He was all bluster and bristle.

"Alright. If you must know. I've had a full-out panic attack this week … actually several." He smacked one large hand into the other. It was finally out there. The admission sounded even worse once verbalized.

Louisa sat down abruptly on the sofa, wrinkling her coat. "Oh, Martin." Then it was that serious. She could feel her stomach drop and throat constrict. Poor, poor Martin. This could cost him his job, his return to surgery and his reputation. Six months of therapy with a reputed specialist should have put him further ahead than this. Knowing him as she did, she knew he must feel both devastated and humiliated. No wonder he was doing his level best to hide it, even from her.

"Have you spoken with Dr. Travers about it?"

Martin shook his head. "My skype appointments are every second Wednesday. What with the moving and the settling in, I've missed the last two sessions." He didn't mention that he had given up his daily visualizations and breathing exercises, considering them a waste of time, believing himself fully cured.

"Don't you think you should contact him to let him know?"

"Yes, thank you, Louisa. I do know that. I am a physician. I do understand that the return of symptoms indicates that a full cure has not yet been achieved," he answered peevishly. His fingers twitched.

She deflected his sarcasm and sniping. "Yes but shouldn't you contact him now, I mean this weekend?" Better to get this in hand as soon as possible.

"For God's sake! This is my problem to handle as I please and in my own time." He was pacing the floor, the agitation preventing him from sitting down.

"I understand that." But she didn't. She continued to press him, recognizing the urgency of immediate treatment even if he didn't. "How can you cope in the hospital? It's hard to avoid blood on a surgical unit." She had not intended to be this blunt but perhaps it was better to clear the air. She strove to keep her tone level, knowing that rising panic in her voice, mirroring his, was likely to increase his anxiety.

Martin flinched. "I haven't vomited in the theatre or on the wards. It hasn't gotten that far; it's not that serious. I am restricted to performing stitch-ups at the end of the simpler vascular surgeries. Part of my re-certification training. Most of the time I've only experienced profuse sweating, heart palpitations and some weakness in the legs. The vomiting has occurred just twice and only in anticipation of an upcoming surgery. Fortunately I have a private bathroom attached to my office. I was able to get there in time." He spoke so clinically as if this behaviour happened everyday to vascular surgical specialists across England.

Crikey. It sounded like more than a few, discrete, isolated incidents to Louisa. No wonder he wasn't eating or sleeping. The stress of it must be horrendous. One slip-up in surgery and he was finished. Having failed at St. Thomas and the Royal Liverpool, who was going to take on the liability and other risks a third time? Yes, she wanted him to return to Port Wenn as its GP but not with his tail between his legs and with a crushing sense of failure and defeat. For his own sense of self-worth and self-confidence, Martin needed to succeed at being a surgeon again.

"So how about calling Dr. Travers? It seems to me that this could be construed as an emergency." She spoke slowly, wanting to ensure that he grasped the importance of the message.

"It's the weekend. He's entitled to a private life."

"So you are planning to wait until your next scheduled appointment?"

"Yes. It's this coming Wednesday evening."

Louisa was alarmed by the depth of his denial. Couldn't he see the peril in which he was placing himself? At the very least he might experience another panic attack before Wednesday evening, perhaps in front of another member of the surgical team. Worse, the lack of sleep he had been experiencing would have dulled his senses, making him more susceptible to a mistake with a patient. Martin would never forgive himself if that happened. A shaky hand suturing wounds or incisions could cause problems too. If he was intractable in his willingness to speak to Dr. Travers then perhaps she could be of some sort of help.

"How about talking about it with me then?" she murmured. She opened her eyes wide and nodded at him several times. This was meant to coax and reassure the agitated person; every teacher was taught this communication skill. It certainly worked when dealing with apprehensive ten-year olds.

"Talk about what?"

"What triggers the symptoms? Why you think the phobia is manifesting itself now, especially considering you were able to handle most blood-related situations during your final months in Port Wenn? … I don't know, Martin. You tell me. We can talk about anything you want. Any subject. Anything that will help you ventilate, to feel better."

"This is ridiculous. I'm not going to discuss this with you. You're not a trained therapist."

"No but I do understand what it means to be apprehensive and frightened. Everyone is scared of something. Many people have phobias. It's very common. For example, I'm afraid of snakes."

"Not many of those in London," he sneered.

"There are in the country," she shot back. So much for attempting to normalize the situation. "Anyway, that's not the point." Her temper was rising; he was so resistant and uncooperative.

"Then what is? I'm not discussing my medical condition with a primary schoolteacher whose job it is to teach the fine art of finger-painting," he lashed out.

She let that slight bypass her. She was trying to listen, fully and deeply listen. "Fair enough. I'm not here in my professional capacity though. What about discussing the problem with your partner, with someone who wants you to succeed at a job which you consider so vital to your career? Let me give you some support and comfort. At least I know how to do that."

She walked over to him and placed one consoling hand on his shoulder and the other on his heaving chest. She looked up at him, engaging in full eye contact. She did this naturally with most people she knew but she had also read that it decreased the stress hormone cortisol and increased the hormone oxycontin thereby enhancing sympathy. Martin liked everything to be clinical and medical; she would relate to him on his level.

"Because, Louisa. First, a nice chat and a warm cup of tea aren't going to solve anything. Second, you haven't the faintest idea how to help. You have no training in cognitive behavioural therapy. Third, it's my problem to fix, not yours. So please … I am asking again … shut up!"

Louisa visibly winced. She took a step backwards. It felt like a slap on the face. A harsh reprimand for services rendered. Whenever he felt cornered or trapped, Martin struck out verbally, intending to wound. This time he hit his target with the skill of a true marksman.

She bit her lip, stifling the urge to cry out. "I only came here to help because I thought something was wrong and it was." She was fed up; there was no need to justify her actions.

"I didn't ask you to come, did I? In fact I expressly asked you not to. Why couldn't you respect my wishes? Why do you always have to be so headstrong? Why do you think that you always know best?"

"Me?"

He brushed past her, shrugging her off. He was utterly wretched. He hadn't intended to be so harsh but the full impact of his problem was beginning to fully dawn on him. Talking about it with Louisa had shattered the illusion that the problem could be denied, could be neatly folded away in the back of the dresser drawer as if it never existed. Now he comprehended that this course of action would never work. Worse, its magnitude was rearing its ugly head; Life had let him down once again, just as it always did.

"Please. Louisa. Just leave me alone. I don't want to talk anymore." He sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his large hands. She wasn't certain but she thought she heard a sob.

She was making him miserable. She could see that now. "Okay, Martin, if that is what you want. I'll go out. I need some air. You can have the suite to yourself. Or would you prefer I check at the Reservation Desk to see if they have a spare room for tonight?"

With a painful slowness he lifted his head and shook it before placing it back in his hands again. Grabbing her purse and coat she left him alone to be defeated by his despair.

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This story continues next week …


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty One

She sat numb in the coffee shop for at least an hour. Louisa wanted desperately to cry but not here, not somewhere so visibly exposed. She remembered there was a movie theatre a block away. She walked down and read the marquis. At 9:05 a romantic tearjerker was playing. She had read the reviews. The plot was lousy, full of treacle and trite; a dying woman reunites with the lover she had jilted years ago. Likely to induce a crying jag amongst audiences. Perfect cover. What better place to sob out one's heart than in a darkened room where everyone else was doing the same?

She bought a ticket and small soda, switched off her mobile as requested then found herself a seat far away from anyone else. This wasn't difficult; there was barely anyone else in the theatre. She contemplated bitterly; happy couples were at home on a Saturday evening content in each other's arms. Desperate singles were out perusing parties and pubs on a quest to find their soulmates. Those who had long given up the search, the crusade, were at home watching reruns of romantic movies, deluding themselves into believing that true love would soon knock at their door.

Within minutes she had lost interest in the movements on-screen, her mind awakening from its protective covering of shock to replay the real-life off-screen drama which had unfolded in Martin's hotel suite. On the first two go-arounds she merely revisited the scene as a detached observer, ensuring that she commit to memory as accurately as possible what had ensued. On the third rumination she tried to view everything objectively from Martin's perspective. Perhaps in hindsight she could comprehend his anger and resistance towards her. He had repeatedly warned her off from interfering in this matter yet she had persisted by ignoring the warnings and barging in on his privacy.

For a time he had tolerated, even appeared soothed by her presence but when she began poking at the wound with her barbed questions, he had turned on her. It was a familiar pattern of behaviour that Martin utilized with just about everybody, perhaps marginally less so with herself and Joan. Notwithstanding, Louisa had hoped that after four years he would have wanted to suppress that defensive urge to strike out at her, that he would have understood she was only there to help, that talking to somebody was far better than keeping it all stitched up inside.

On the fourth replay Louisa focused on her own perspective and this is when the tears started to flow. She could not escape the utter rejection she felt. There was no way of misinterpreting or putting too fine a gloss on the message Martin had given her. This hurt more than anything because she prided herself on being a good listener, someone friends, parents and students went to for support, comfort and advice. But with Martin it never seemed to work out that way. She was weary of this never-ending dance; her assertive step forward followed by his inevitable retreat, treating her as if she was in the wrong. When she had first heard about his haemophobia, when his parents had visited, when the "Physician's Friend" threatened to exile Martin from Port Wenn, hadn't she attempted to offer him support and sympathy and hadn't he rebuffed her actions? Spurned her so unkindly?

Her confidence in their relationship and herself was shaken. Suddenly all of her own securities came flooding into her brain, setting it awash in doubt. She could not resist asking herself the dangerous question: what then did Martin see in her? Why did he want her in his life?

Part of her brain tried to warn her off from opening this door. Don't do it, it shrieked, you'll never figure out the honest, unbiased answer on your own. You are most certainly going to do yourself more harm than good in the process. Had Louisa not been sitting alone, in a darkened room, amongst strangers, in a city where she did not feel at home, she would have had the wisdom to listen to that cautious inner voice, not been tempted to commence the self-flagellation that followed.

She didn't consider herself beautiful, didn't feel it to be important. She did, however, have more than enough evidence to support the thesis that others did. She had never been short of admirers. Nevertheless she fretted, in seven months she would be thirty-nine years old. Probably what had attracted Martin to her at thirty-four was beginning to fade.

Unlike living in an obscure fishing village, Martin was now entering a milieu where he would meet multitudes of women: interesting professionals, well educated, some cool and clinical like him, working alongside in the same field as he, aged from twenty upwards. Yes, lots of choice there. Women he had more in common with, who better understood and appreciated the hectic lifestyle of a surgeon. Women would be attracted to a brilliantly talented, sophisticated, well-off man with a commanding and masterful presence. A thirty-eight year old village schoolteacher with one single college degree could not compete with any of that.

Had Louisa not conducted this entire conversation in her head, had she instead waited to discuss it with Lindsay, it might have had an entirely different outcome. Lindsay would have instructed her to cease the brow-beating, the self-reproach, and the self- doubts. But Louisa was alone without counsel or confidante; she continued to drain the remaining reserves of her self-confidence.

Social skills, now there was something at which she excelled. She liked people and they seemed to warm to her, apart from the occasional parent of a wayward pupil. She had always hoped to instill in Martin a sense of belonging to the Port Wenn family. She endeavoured to introduce him to men and women she thought might make good friends for him or for them as a couple. Martin had rejected all of them. He remained almost as friendless and alone as when he had first arrived in Port Wenn.

For a period of time she had thought she could help ease him into the local medical community, something which might dispel the widely held area consensus that he was an arrogant, rude tosser. The general practitioners from nearby surgeries often got together for social occasions in an effort to reduce the isolation of practicing in a rural location. There were golf and tennis tournaments, bridge and reading clubs, in addition to gourmet dining nights in top restaurants in the area. Many times she had encouraged him to join in, offering occasionally to escort him. He wouldn't budge. Not once.

Some people thought of their partners as their companions: someone to travel with for leisure; to accompany them to galleries, movies or the theatre; with whom to share a hobby or sport. Martin did none of those things. He did enjoy the occasional classical music concert but that was the type of event where one sat quietly and concentrated on the notes, the instruments and the voice if there was a singer. One could easily go alone and not mind.

Intelligence was something she had in good measure. It was, however, nowhere near the intelligence quota of Martin Ellingham. This bothered her. For a time she had tried deciphering her way through the British Journal of Family Medicine. She intended to discuss the articles with him but the plan had backfired miserably. She forgot half the facts, mispronounced several Latin and medical terms and sat speechless as Martin's brain ran rings around hers. From autism to ADHD, he dismissed her opinions as no more than those of any uninformed and ignorant layperson. She tried not to take it too personally; he was like this with everyone, even the paramedics.

As the dying lover on the giant, illuminated screen inevitably succumbed to her illness, so too did Louisa succumb to her plummeting and inevitable despair. She could not think of a single reason why Martin needed or wanted her in his life, especially as he began this new chapter. It seemed to her that what she had on offer was neither what he desired or needed. The movie ended. There was a smattering of applause. The lights went up, she dried her eyes and wandered slowly back to the hotel feeling neither necessary nor appreciated.

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This story continues tomorrow …


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter Fifty Two

Martin had done his level best to wait up until Louisa came back. Unfortunately the stress of their argument on top of coping with the reemergence of his phobia and the sheer exhaustion of several sleepless nights had combined to exact their toll. He was utterly knackered.

He was worried about her. He knew she was greatly upset with him. He had called her mobile several times only to find it turned off. He hadn't left a message because he didn't know where to begin. He didn't want to bungle it the way he had bungled their fight.

For almost his entire life he had been used to figuring out and solving his own problems, sometimes unsuccessfully and with negative consequences. He was extraordinarily uncomfortable asking for help. To do so had been discouraged in his childhood and adolescence as a human failing. He had always been scolded to keep a stiff upper lip, to stop whinging and to crack on.

Louisa always wanted to talk things through. Yes, talking had enabled them to reconcile. Discussing his phobia was an entirely different matter. For starters, he did not want her to perceive him as weak. No matter how many times she had praised his efforts he could not really believe she was sincere. More critically, to acknowledge the phobia's re-emergence was to admit that he had never really defeated it, that he hadn't spent enough time learning how to handle it, that it had been an erroneous supposition on his part to believe that his 'minor anxiety disorder' could be dismissed in a few short months. Dr. Travers had never concurred with this supposition, instead urging patience and strict adherence to the therapeutic exercises. Martin wondered now if he had been too cavalier, refusing to adhere to the therapist's warnings.

Now look at the trouble he was in. There were only two people in this world to whom he could talk about it; one whose advice he had ignored and the other whom he had essentially told it was none of her bloody business. He knew his behaviour had been rubbish. He hadn't meant to speak to Louisa in that tone or with such barbed words. He had taken every opportunity to rebuff her intelligence and insights, to reject her compassion and infinite patience. It's the way he was with everyone, always had been. But Louisa wasn't exactly everyone, was she?

It certainly wasn't the first time he had rebuffed her efforts. Upon sober review he pondered on the evidence; while she might be the first to chastise his behaviour, she was always the first to come to his defence. When the Physician's Friend had threatened him with a humiliating professional ejection from Port Wenn, Louisa was one of the very few who had fought for him to remain. She might well have been instrumental in saving his career from a further downwards slide. Forced to vacate his job at St. Thomas' because of his haemophobia, thrown out of an obscure little village because of his poor social skills, where would he have ended up next? A phobia manifesting daily, an, apparently, sub par bedside manner, neither exactly sterling recommendations for landing a suitable new position.

It crystallized solidly in his brain that Louisa Glasson was and always had been, one of the very few bright spots in what had otherwise been a bleak and often gloomy personal life. He had always been so terrified to trust the people in his life, to let them view his interior self. Just catching a glimpse of her walking through the village streets had very often been the highlight of his day. Louisa Glasson was exactly the person he wanted to be near, craved to be near. She brought a shining light into his life and the heat from that light thawed the coldness inside that had clutched at him since childhood.

This acknowledgement should have come as no surprise to him. Deep down he had always known it, right from the start. He had always managed to block this realization from rising to the surface. It was only that today, when he felt so vulnerable, so utterly stripped of his usually iron-clad self-control, that he could not force down the admission.

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When Louisa returned to the hotel suite close on midnight, she found Martin already sound asleep, in his pajamas, in bed. With a despairing sigh she told herself that he hadn't even bothered to call or wait up for her. Obviously he wanted her gone. There was a small yellow note stuck to her pillow. "Sorry" it said in Martin's tight scrawl. Sorry for what exactly? For which thing? She would acquiesce to his wishes tomorrow. When she finally came to their shared bed, she tossed and turned until three o'clock before falling into a troubled sleep.

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She wasn't really surprised that he was gone from the hotel suite when she woke up. She had overslept. It was already past nine-thirty. She used the suite phone to call the station to book an earlier train. She made herself tea and toast, showered, dressed, packed her suitcase and called downstairs to order a taxi. Martin evidently did not want to see her this morning as evidenced by his having left her no note or indication regarding his return.

As she was zipping up the suitcase, he arrived. A clear bag containing a croissant and cinnamon bun in his hand; he thrust the bag at her. "Look," he said brightly, hoping to make the first gesture of contrition with her favourite high calorie, sugar laden treats. "I went downtown to that bake shop you liked and bought these for your breakfast. I remembered how you said they were delicious. They were baked fresh not an hour ago."

"Thank you." She smiled faintly as she peered into the bag. "They smell delicious. I'll take them with me to eat on the train."

It was then that he looked downwards and noticed her suitcase by the door. He frowned. "You're not leaving this morning, are you? You usually take the late afternoon train."

"I left a pile of marking on my table. I should get to it today. End of Half Term is such a busy week for me."

"Louisa, please. I know that you are very cross with me." He was frustrated with himself. He didn't want her to leave with so much unsaid. There were things he needed to say.

"Not cross, Martin. Just disappointed with you and with me."

"With yourself?"

"Yes, I should have realized that the same old pattern never changes, does it? I should know better after four long years. What a fool I have been, never learning from my mistakes. I apologize for intruding on your privacy yesterday."

"Could we please forget about last night – "

The hotel phone rang. He looked at it unsure whether to bother answering. He couldn't think of anyone, aside from Aunt Joan, who might call him at home. He didn't want to be interrupted. The matter in front of him was far too imperative.

"It's my taxi."

He looked at her in horror. "You are leaving now? This minute?"

"Yes. I'll be home mid-afternoon. Get a good start on that marking," she answered matter-of-factly, intent on fixing a button on her trench coat.

"No, please. Wait till later. We can have lunch, go for a walk and I'd like to drive you to the station. Whatever you want." He stroked her shoulder lightly.

"Martin, the taxi's waiting. I've got to get to the station now so there's time to pick up my new ticket." She didn't want any fuss. She had resigned herself to the fact that she was more of a hindrance than a help with his dilemma. She didn't need to be told again.

"Let me drive you."

"There's no time for that now. The taxi's faster. We can talk later in the week. Get some rest and remember to eat."

"I … I … behaved badly. I want to apologize. I am sorry."

"Yes, I suppose you are. I wish things could be different but I realize now that you want to sort this out by yourself. Please, Martin, at least consider telephoning Dr. Travers."

Louisa grabbed her purse and the suitcase handle. As an afterthought she reached up to brush her lips gently against his cheek. She put a hand on his arm and smiled faintly once more. "Be well. Call whenever you feel like it."

She left the suite quickly. Martin threw the bag of pastries into the rubbish bin. In her haste she had forgotten to take them with her. Everything he held dear was slipping away from him. He felt helpless to stop it.

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This story continues next week …


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter Fifty Three

Author's Note: If you are wondering why there were no chapters published last weekend, as I was typing in chapter 53 my computer crashed and died. It took five days before the diagnostic was completed and revealed that the computer could not be saved. Now I have a bright new shiny computer, new printer, new accessories and new programs to learn so please bear with me if there are further minor delays before Part Four concludes. And now back to more important things … where were we? Ah yes …

"You won't get it sorted on your own. If you could then you would have done so five years ago. You have to accept the fact that you need to continue with the therapy. Be patient. These things often don't resolve themselves as quickly as one would like."

"Hopefully it will resolve itself sometime before I'm dead," muttered Martin dejectedly.

"Don't start thinking that way, Martin. You must have confidence in yourself and in the process. If you start doubting yourself now, you will have a bigger mountain to climb."

"Right," said Martin, not feeling reassured.

"Remember," continued Dr. Travers sternly, "you must follow the program we set out and agreed to, otherwise you will continue to have setbacks such as those which you experienced recently."

"Okay. Fine." He was annoyed and frustrated for allowing himself to get into this mess and for improperly assessing the depth of his problem.

"It helps if you can think of your therapy sessions as a journey. Focus on where you want to end up rather than where you began. Concentrate on the end result rather than the fear and anxiety that drove you to seek treatment in the first place."

"I'll try." These psychologists certainly liked to create their little stories, metaphors and analogies. Surgeons just laid out the diseased body parts, sliced into them and got on with it.

"No more skipping the daily meditation sessions, the breathing exercises, and the visualizations. Definitely no more skipping our Skype sessions. I will create a more advanced program on a CD for you to listen to daily. Do the homework, Martin. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Bleakly he realized that he had no other choice. Cure or be fired. He would comply otherwise he wasn't going to get better.

"You didn't pick up a virus or contract a bacterial infection. There is no pill to provide an instant cure." If the hard truths weren't driven home today, they might never be. "This phobia, these fears, they are the product of your own mind. Your mind created them and it is you who must learn how to vanquish them. If you don't, you are only running away from yourself and you are never going to get this sorted."

Dr. Travers paused a moment to let this sink in and then continued, "You will have to put off your surgical hours for a bit. Do you want me to call your department chief myself tomorrow morning and explain the postponement?"

"No, it is my responsibility. I'll tell him myself, in person. It shouldn't be much of a problem; I was only doing the most basic of stitch-ups. For the next couple of weeks I was set to be working mostly on the research protocols."

"Good. I will send an updating report to the staff psychologist who is monitoring you and a copy to your department chief tomorrow afternoon. Remember though, you can't run away from the operating theatre. Avoidance would be the absolute wrong thing to do at this time. You need more actual exposure to the environment that is causing the phobia. You need to expose yourself to the fearful situations that trigger the anxiety. Therefore I want you back in the operating theatre by next week, as an observer. No suturing, no closing up. Just observing, practising your exercises and monitoring your anxiety levels, right?"

"I understand. I will do whatever you suggest."

"You have made a great deal of progress since April. Don't be so hard on yourself. Continue to follow the program rather than ignore it and you will succeed."

"Yes." Martin wasn't used to taking orders but he was heeding them now. "Dr. Travers … um … you don't think the vomiting will continue?"

"Not if you take the steps we discussed today. First of all, I suspect that was primarily anticipatory anxiety which you were experiencing. You were having an anxiety attack because you feared having an anxiety attack. It's quite common. Simply put, we fear fear. You panicked because you were afraid you would have a panic attack in front of your peers and possibly harm a patient."

"I see." This hadn't occurred to him. It was true that he had been extremely worked up in the hour prior to entering the surgical theatre, wondering what would happen, visualizing everything he might do wrong instead of considering everything he might do right.

"Second, now that you are back in a high stress, high pressure, quick response environment, your general level of anxiety is heightened. Added to that is the pressure that you are no doubt placing upon yourself to perform perfectly."

Silently Martin acknowledged the truth and accuracy of this statement.

"Third, try to remember that you have been, for the first time in five years, thrust back into almost the exact milieu that first triggered the haemphobia. That's going to produce some trauma regardless of how much prep time you've had. Some of my patients have a fear of flying. No matter how many preparatory visual simulations they undergo, there really is nothing to compare with actually sitting on a real plane again and experiencing the sensation of flying through the air. It is the same for you. Nothing can replace those first few trips to the operating theatre."

"Lastly, remember that you have somewhat jumped ahead of your course of treatment by failing to observe surgery from the gallery of the operating theatre at the Royal Cornwall as you were expected to do in September. Therefore, entering an actual theatre again must have come as quite a shock to your system, kind of like jumping into freezing cold water."

"Right." It all sounded plausible and even reassuring. At least there was a logical explanation for what was happening to him this past week.

A brief break in the session ensued as Dr. Travers' granddaughter rushed into the room to ask why her grandfather was late for Sunday dinner. The family was already eating dessert and he had yet to make an appearance. Apologizing into the computer screen, Dr. Travers left the room to escort the perplexed six year old back to the table. The respite gave Martin time to assess how he was feeling. Decidedly better. This Travers did know his stuff; his reputation was well deserved. Not that Martin would give him the compliment out loud. But a plan of action had been well laid out, treatment prescribed, analysis offered, reassurances and optimism given. For the first time in a week Martin felt a glimmer of hope.

Dr. Travers returned, sat back in his chair, hands folded neatly on his lap; a reassuring smile filled his face. "So, now that we have that sorted, tell me, how are you enjoying it at the Royal Liverpool?"

"I'm not enjoying the panic attacks, if that is what you are referring to."

"No, Martin, not those, obviously. I meant being back in theatre and on the wards, being in charge of a research project and a team."

A small smile curled Martin's lips upwards. He sat up a little straighter at the keyboard. "Very much indeed."

"Excellent. Remember that. It makes all of your efforts all the more worthwhile and provides the motivation and incentive required for you to succeed with the phobia diminishment."

"Thank you, Doctor. I do appreciate you having taken the time out of your Sunday afternoon to talk with me. I apologize if I sounded somewhat distressed when I left the message on your answering machine this morning."

Dr. Travers waved off the apology. "You were quite right to call, Martin. We'll get you back on the proper track soon enough. It can't have been an easy week for you, what with having an attack or fearing when the next one would begin. Thank goodness you had Louisa there with you this weekend to provide some support. That must have eased things somewhat for you."

Silence on the other end of the screen. Martin was looking downwards as if something on the keyboard had suddenly caught his attention.

"Martin? Didn't Louisa come to Liverpool this weekend? Hasn't she been coming down regularly?"Dr. Travers frowned.

"Um … yes." Martin dusted an imaginary speck of lint off of his shirt.

"Then she must have brightened your weekend considerably." reiterated, "Can't have been easy for her, no doubt you were in a bearish sort of mood."

"Quite."

"Regardless, having someone around who loves you helps ease the burden somewhat, doesn't it? They look after you, help take you out of your gloom for a bit and lessens the self-imposed isolation,' he probed.

"Indeed."

"It must have been consoling."

"Ah."

"From your monosyllabic responses, I presume that my comments are overly optimistic. Things didn't go well between the two of you then? What happened?" Dr. Travers peered more closely at the screen of his laptop, concern filling his face.

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This story to be continued tomorrow …


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter Fifty Four

In sketchy detail Martin recounted the events of the past two days. Dr. Travers probed him for a more fulsome accounting of the disagreement on Saturday evening, an account that Martin gave with the greatest of reluctance.

"Therefore she heeded my wishes and left me to figure things out on my own, albeit she left earlier than she had originally planned. You see now, don't you?" Martin tried to smooth over this part, feeling guilty that he had pushed Louisa away so insensitively that she had felt there was nothing else left for her to do but get out of his way.

"Not really, no. However I do understand more clearly what you were thinking."

"And?"

"So now you have been left alone in Liverpool to figure it all out by yourself, just as you wanted. Louisa complied with your wishes."

"Correct. I thought, at the time, it would be easier for me to solve this on my own without any outside interference."

"Just as you were alone for years in Port Wenn, figuring it out by yourself?"

"Correct."

"With all due respect, you didn't have much success in doing that did you? If we are being honest. Do you recognize the parallels in your behaviour?"

"What parallels?"

"The haemophobia didn't start to abate until you decided to receive professional help. The problem didn't resolve itself on its own, did it?"

"I suppose not."

"As to confiding in others who might have tried to help you, provide some comfort, your Aunt Joan and Louisa both tolerated your phobia and offered their support. You spurned them."

"They viewed me as weak."

"Did either of them actually say that to you? Did they say that you were weak?"

"No … never."

"You inferred it from their behaviour then? Can you give me an example."

"Um … there is nothing specific that I can put my finger on."

"When Louisa first found out about the phobia, did she ridicule you? Or make you the butt of jokes like that plumber did in the pub?"

"No. I think she was angry that the Chair of the interview panel, you remember Dr. Parsons, and I hadn't thought to inform her of the phobia even though I had written him a full explanation prior to the interview. It should have come up at the interview but we managed to avoid it. I thought it was sufficiently minor that I could avoid making it into a major issue. I told the Chair that I had it under control and that it would in no way interfere with the conduct of my medical duties and responsibilities. So no, Louisa wasn't informed when she was asked to sit on the panel. She was quite miffed subsequently hearing about my … um … problem on the radio. "

"Understandable. Wasn't Louisa with you, shortly thereafter, in the ambulance when you saved that young boy's life, the one who was bleeding out from the spleen?"

"Yes."

"It seems to me from the way you described that incident when we first discussed it, that she found your actions brave, perhaps even heroic?"

"She seemed rather … appreciative."

"Well then, from everything that you have told me, it doesn't sound like she views you as weak... People are remarkably tolerant of phobias. Scratch the surface and you'll find that most people have at least one: heights, enclosed spaces, spiders …"

"Sounds comforting," Martin answered cynically.

"Do you think that asking for help is a weakness, a human failing?"

"Yes. I have told you that before. My parents, my nanny, the teachers at boarding school, they all drummed that lesson into my head. No mollycoddling. Just crack on, no matter what."

"But now you know that this type of attitude is just plain wrong and destructive. To your great credit you found the strength to ultimately seek professional help for your phobia and to dig further into its root causes."

"Yes because it is a medical condition that reached the stage where medical treatment was required. As you said, it wasn't resolving itself on its own."

"But you think that Louisa wouldn't see if that way. You think that she would view you as weak and you don't want her to see you like that?"

"Correct. I must remain strong."

"Did you ever consider that maybe she just perceives you as a human being with failings similar to the rest of us? That your vulnerabilities indicate that you are a warm blooded person with feelings? What does she think now about you receiving psychological treatment for your phobia? If I remember correctly you told her this summer."

"She still thinks it's a good thing. It was she who … uh … insisted that I call you today."

"Well then. You are a most fortunate man to have someone like that in your corner. From everything you have said previously it would appear that her nurturing personality, natural empathy and caring instincts can be of assistance to you in these situations. I can teach you the tools required to overcome your phobia but she can provide you with the support and encouragement you require to complete your recovery. It's a hard road on your own without any family, friends or a partner to fall back on. Isolating yourself is never going to get you the support that you need. You have firsthand knowledge of this now otherwise you wouldn't be contacting me with an emergency at five o'clock on a Sunday afternoon."

"So it would be alright to talk with her … about this?" He already knew the answer that he wanted to hear but he required the assurance and encouragement of someone better able to make the objective judgment.

"It might make you feel a whole lot better and it might make her happy to be of use to you, to feel closer to you. Everybody likes to feel needed, to be helpful, and to alleviate the pains of their loved ones. Don't shut her out. There has been a dearth of people in your life that you felt you could trust and many times you have been justified in feeling that way. But for every person who will try to hurt you, there is at least one person who will try to help you. You have to seek out those persons and take the risk to trust them. We all need people in our lives to help us through the inevitable rough patches. Support and comfort make good medicine too."

Dr. Travers held up his index finger to the computer screen. "And Martin a word of caution, don't lash out at Louisa because you are angry with yourself."

"Yes." He looked away, feeling the heat of his own guilt and discomfort.

"So ... I will speak to you tomorrow evening to find out what your department head said. And do try to remember: if you are drowning and someone holds out a hand to rescue you from choppy seas – grasp on to it for dear life."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX

For the first time in seven days Martin sat perfectly still. His fingers stopped twitching, his breathing slowed and became deeper; his mind ceased casting anxiously about for the next diversion. He had long been skeptical and cynical regarding the benefits of meditation. Tonight however he could positively attest to its results: his mind felt clearer and his body more relaxed that it had been all week.

He contemplated why this was. had buoyed his self-confidence with the assurance that the setbacks were temporary, that the haemophobia would and could still be overcome. A course of treatment had been proposed to him and he had wholly accepted it, now fully understanding that there could be no shortcuts. Admitting at this moment openly and only to himself, he knew that had the phobia resulted in his dismissal from the Royal Liverpool, it was likely that he would have spiralled downwards into a major depression. A full blown clinical depression descending heavily on the great Martin Ellingham.

In this raw moment when denial had been stripped away and honesty was fulsome and unblocked, he understood that he would never have reached today's goalpost had it not been for Louisa's visit; that the thought of returning tomorrow to work at the hospital no longer filled him with unmitigated dread, was largely down to her. She had pushed him to telephone Dr. Travers, induced him to eat, lulled him to sleep, broken down the sense of isolation that was preventing him from going out into the world again. She had made him recognize that the peril could no longer be avoided. He had stood at the edge of a dangerous precipice; it was she who had pulled him back.

There are turning points in a life when a revelation alters everything. Today Martin Ellingham experienced two. First, he admitted to himself that there were instances when he did not know better than everyone else; when he had to ask for help and accept it when it was offered. It might just be that to do so was less a humiliating weakness and more of a strength than he had previously thought.

Second, this week he had been simultaneously on the verge of losing his career and the person whom he loved best in the world. This thought frightened him immensely He had sat alone and isolated and afraid in his suite on Saturday night wondering darkly what was left in his life if these two things vanished. What, at age forty-six, could possibly fill that emptiness? He envisioned a future devoid of meaning, purpose or hope and it pressed a chill upon his skin.

Both crises had been of his own manufacturing. That he could have lost the person and the thing most valuable to him was of his own making. His behaviour and his alone had precipitated the events that had ensued.

In one form or another his career would be saved; he would beat the haemophobia and be either family physician or vascular surgical specialist. Of this he was now certain.

But Louisa. That was far worse. He was full of remorse. Had he inflicted too much damage already? He reproached himself for his conduct. Regrettably he had lashed out at her because she had spoken the truth he had not wanted to hear. He had, in fact, shot the messenger. Now it was a question of assessing just how badly he had wounded her and if he could repair the damage. Was the wound irreparable? He was deeply grateful to her and deeply ashamed of himself.

He resolved to make amends.

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This story continues next weekend (hopefully) ….


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter Fifty Five

It wasn't intentional that Louisa's mobile was switched off when Martin tried to call her at noon. She had turned it off before the movie had started last night out of consideration for her fellow audience members. Too preoccupied by her own misery, she had forgotten to switch it on again afterwards. Thus it was not until the train was a quarter of the way to London on Sunday afternoon that she realized her mistake. There was an email and a voice mail from Martin; both conveyed the same communication: "I'm sorry about yesterday. Have left a message with Dr. Travers' service for him to telephone me today if possible."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At seven o'clock, just as she was finishing grading another essay and struggling to keep her mind on her job instead of on Martin, her mobile rang.

"Hello Martin," she said, wondering what type of reception she was in for.

Her Cornish lilt soothed him. "Louisa, I wanted you to know that I reached Dr. Travers late this afternoon. He was good enough to give me some time to evaluate the problem and to prescribe a suitable course of action."

"Good." At least something was turning out right today.

"I need to be more vigilant in keeping up with my treatment. I wasn't and I jumped back into surgery prematurely," he finally admitted freely to someone other than himself.

"But you will be able to continue at your post, won't you?" She prayed that Dr. Travers had been optimistic in his prognosis.

"Certainly. Things will just progress a little more slowly on the actual operating side while I get this thing in hand. More observing; less stitching."

"You sound …" she wanted to say calmer but figured Martin would deny the acute level of anxiety that he had exhibited yesterday, "… reassured."

"Yes. Yes, I am," he replied. But not about you. How can I make things right with you?

"Good." What else was there to say? You shut me out. Here I am, cheering from the sidelines.

"I … I want to thank you for the advice … about calling Dr. Travers. He agreed that it was the right thing to do."

"I'm glad." At least you thought I was of some tiny bit of help amidst the debris of this horrible weekend.

"Also … I have taken your advice and made myself a full dinner tonight: boiled eggs, whole wheat toast, juice and fruit." He hoped she would understand that he was listening to her yesterday.

"That sounds nutritious." At least he was eating again. She wouldn't have to worry about that.

"I am going to bed after this call. I am feeling rather worn out. My circadian rhythms are off after the lack of sleep this week. I feel as though I could slumber for a week."

"That sounds wise. Pleasant dreams. Good night." She was about to press the end button on her mobile when she heard him shout into the phone.

"Wait! Louisa, please. Don't hang up yet!" he implored. Why couldn't he just get on with it and tell her what he really wanted to say? Why could he never find the right words when he needed them?

"About yesterday …" He was fumbling, not knowing how to proceed, afraid he might botch things as per usual.

"Yes?" she asked sharply. She waited intently for what he might say next. Was some explanation forthcoming?

"It wasn't the … weekend … the … um … outcome that you had hoped for, was it?"

"No." Which outcome? Surely not the shopping for and selection of a front hall carpet? He could not mean something so trivial.

"Right. I'm sorry for that."

"Uh huh." Here we go again. Sorry for what exactly? Sorry for not taking me shopping for a sodding rug? Sorry for ripping out my heart? For making me feel unwelcome and unneeded? For not telling me to stay in Port Wenn and take the teaching job that opens up next week at Port Wenn Primary? Which of these things are you now regretting? Come on, Martin. Stop apologizing and talk to me clearly. Tell me how you feel. Say, without hesitation, whatever it is that you want to say.

This was never going to work on the telephone. He had too much to say. He felt like a clumsy idiot. He had to talk to her face to face. "May I see you next weekend?"

"Martin, I have come to Liverpool the last three weekends. I simply don't have the time to do it again next weekend. I have things I must do here on Saturday and I'm leaving for home on Sunday afternoon. It is Half Term Break, remember?" She was mildly annoyed; was her life so unimportant to him that he expected she would continually drop everything in order to be with him? She had a life too. He had to realize that.

She sounded somewhat annoyed. Not that he could blame her. Between the anxiety, the lack of sleep and nutrition and his agitated need to make things right with her, he had completely forgotten about her travel plans. The trauma of this weekend had completely knocked it out of his head. "Right," he lied, "I did remember. I was just wondering whether you would consider postponing your trip to Port Wenn by a day or so?"

"No, I can't possibly. Lindsay is picking me up at Bodmin Parkway on Sunday evening. Caroline Bosman is taking off Monday from work to spend the day with me. Tuesday I am having lunch with Stuart Mackenzie. You must remember him? He's still the Chair of the school Board of Governors. Wednesday I am visiting with some friends then dinner at the farm with Joan. Thursday Lindsay and I are driving back to prepare for the move on Saturday. So, as you can see, it's impossible."

"The move." Another instance where he was failing her. He should be there to help her. The management company that owned both her four-storey brick walk-up and the three-storey house to which she was moving, was allowing her to move in next Saturday, two days before the first of the month. The previous tenants had vacated the premises last week and the management company was having the flat freshly painted this week. "I'm sorry that I can't take off next weekend to help you pack and unpack and to shift things."

"It's okay, Martin. It's not your fault. You have to take the recertification courses when they are offered, even when the timing doesn't suit you. If you miss those lectures, it will only further delay your recertification. Lindsay can help me with the final details. The truck and the movers are booked. It won't take long to clear out this bedsit; most of my stuff is still back home in storage." She tried to say it all as brightly as she could. When he had first told her that he wasn't able to help with the move, she had been disappointed but she understood the hectic life of a surgeon. At home together their time had been frequently interrupted by the demands of his job."Besides, we wouldn't want anything to damage those delicate hands of a surgeon, would we?" she teased him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well … I'm sorry just the same." It left him frustrated. He needed to see her. "All this means that I won't see you for at least the next three or four weeks. That's no good at all." He sighed deeply into the phone.

"Yea, I know." Why did he sound so disappointed and frustrated? She couldn't figure him out. He had practically thrown her out on Saturday evening, now he sounded almost distraught that he wouldn't see her again for several weeks.

"How about I come to London next weekend?" he blurted out.

"What? On Friday night?"

"No. I won't be finished with the Leg Ulcer Clinic until past five o'clock. Too late to catch the train. I'll come in on Saturday morning."

"It hardly seems worth it. I'm leaving at noon on Sunday. That will give you less than twenty-four hours in London. It's not worth your time." What was going on with him?

"It is, worth it, I mean. I could help finish up some of the packing. I will take you out to dinner, anywhere you would like." It would be worth it to spend some time with her, to say what needed to be said, even if she insisted on eating at that dreadfully loud and unsanitary restaurant on the high street

"Oh?" Why was he coming? What for? Couldn't he just say why? Why the need to splash out for a good dinner? She felt like a condemned prisoner being offered her choice of a last meal before she was carted off to stand before the firing squad.

"Please say yes, Louisa," he pleaded. He didn't like the tone in her voice. She sounded cool, almost impatient and distant.

Was Martin actually begging? "Martin, is something wrong? Besides the … setback … with your treatment. Is there something you are not telling me?" She was suddenly concerned; he didn't sound at all like himself.

"Yes. No. I mean … there is something that I want to talk to you about. It is important."

"Are you ill? Have you lost your job?" She felt the panic slowly rising upwards from the pit of her stomach.

"No, no. It's nothing like that. I'll be closely monitored by the hospital psychologist of course but I doubt that I will lose my job. They were well aware of my blood thing when they hired me. Dr. Travers feels this is a temporary setback and he will attest to that tomorrow."

"So what is so urgent then? Why do you have to see me?"

"It's about … us."

"Us?" This was totally unexpected. The highlights of last night's conversation with herself in the movie theatre briefly replayed themselves in her mind. He has come to the same conclusion after this crisis as you did. He has concluded that you add no value to his life, a small penetrating voice whispered from deep inside her subconscious.

"Yes, I have something to say to you and it cannot wait another month." Was she getting the gist of what he was trying to intimate? That he wanted to make things right again between them, to repair the damage.

"I see." Her voice grew cold.

"So, I can see you next Saturday?"

"Yes, if you feel you must," she relied briskly. At least he had the guts to tell her face to face instead of by text or email.

At least this was settled. He could relax slightly. She had agreed to see him. He could not help yawning into the phone. "Excuse me. I would like to talk more but I seem unable to keep my eyelids open. Would you mind if I said goodnight now?"

"Of course not, "she said stiffly. "Get some sleep. Bye."

"Bye."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To be continued …


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter Fifty Six

Martin switched off his mobile and frowned at its keyboard. Louisa seemed to him reserved and flat of affect during their telephone call. Obviously pleased about today's emergency session with Dr. Travers and its outcome, she had not been her usual effusive self. She certainly hadn't sounded keen regarding his intention to come to London next Saturday.

Maybe it was already too late. Maybe she had already made the decision to end their relationship. After his beastly behaviour yesterday, he could hardly blame her. Even if she had changed her ticket this morning and stayed for another five hours, he would likely have remained in his highly agitated state until he finally plucked the courage to call Dr. Travers. Her leaving had been the catalyst for him to do so. He knew that she had not abandoned him in that moment; it was he who had driven her away just as he had done with so many people countless times before.

He felt the urge to call in sick tomorrow and jump on a train to London. It might be the romantic thing to do but it most definitely wasn't the most practical. He had to issue his confession to his department head first thing in the morning. No doubt he would be required to meet with the staff psychologist in the afternoon after Dr. Travers' assessment and update was received and he had a Skype session with Dr. Travers in the evening. Louisa was at Tarlington Hall all day; she had marking and packing to attend to in the evening and at least one after school meeting. She would hardly thank him for showing up uninvited. No, he would wait until Saturday as planned then he would see her and beg for another chance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Louisa switched off her mobile, cradling it in her hand while she endeavoured to make sense of what had just transpired. Martin had not been himself. It was rare to hear him so calm or contrite and surprisingly, he had taken her advice. Thus good things had been resultant from these wretched two days. Martin was back on the road to recovery. But really, she hadn't played much of a part in his success. It appeared to her that once again he had sorted out his troubles on his own. However it seemed to her that it was further proof that he didn't need or want her in his life, as if she needed any more convincing. She felt shut out.

So why the rush to London at his first opportunity to see her? It dawned on her that he was coming to break up their relationship. As his emotional distress subsided this afternoon, he too must have had the same revelation as she; that there was no place for her in the next chapter of his life. She suddenly remembered the nightmare that she had in the summer when they were still working on their reconciliation. They had been driving in his car in the desert when the car got stuck in the sand. She had gotten out to help, to push the car out of its rut so that it could proceed on its journey. After she had successfully nudged the Lexus out of the sand trap, Martin had driven off without her, saying she could not follow where he was heading. Perhaps dreams do sometimes come true.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Life sometimes interferes with the best of our intentions. The next five days passed quickly, leaving neither Martin nor Louisa barely time to think about anything besides work. They had intended to speak several times but in the end had time for only a late night phone call on Wednesday evening when Martin telephoned to say that the Saturday morning train to London was full because of a football match at Wembley Stadium. He would be on the next train out but wouldn't arrive at Louisa's bedsit before three o'clock. He was sincerely apologetic.

In the end, these inconveniences proved helpful. Neither partner had the inclination for long, protracted conversations. They were, frankly, wary of each other. Both were convinced that the other might not wait until Saturday afternoon to initiate the break-up. Neither wanted to broach the subject. Instead they stuck to discussing the frenzy of their workdays. Louisa was wending her way through the last of the half-term tests, essays and homework assignments. The packing was lagging somewhat.

Martin had two Skype sessions with Dr. Travers, was adhering to his self-imposed now rigourous schedule of meditation, relaxation and visualization exercises. His department head had been concerned but understanding and the optimistic report of Dr. Travers which followed dispersed any outstanding issues. As Martin told Louisa on Wednesday evening, he would only be observing in theatre for the next three weeks but would be assisting in the removal of sutures and the tending of minor wounds on the wards. It was a reasonable and satisfactory compromise for all concerned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Martin and Louisa fell exhausted into their separate beds in their separate cities on Friday night. Both fretted about what tomorrow might bring. Martin lay in bed rehearsing over and over what he intended to say. He had gone so far as to jot down some notes on a blank card which he would put in the breast pocket of his suit jacket for easy reference. He had discussed its contents with Dr. Travers to ensure the reasonableness of his statements and to siphon off anything that might be interpreted or deemed as provocative.

Louisa lay in bed deciding how best to receive the news she assumed that Martin was imminently about to deliver to her. She hoped she would act graciously; even perhaps suggest that they remain in touch as casual friends do. She prayed that she would be able to mask her utter disappointment and the anger that no doubt would surface after once again being rebuffed by Martin.

Four years was a long time to cajole, poke and prod someone into a lasting relationship. But no more; this time she wasn't going to make the colossal effort to try to repair the damage. If he didn't want her, didn't need her, wouldn't be lonely without her then she was not going to attempt to persuade him. Not again. She had felt so certain in August that this reconciliation was permanent. Life, however, came without iron clad guarantees.

She buoyed up her sinking spirits by thinking about what she might be able to salvage from her shattered future. She would stay on at Tarlington Hall until June; she owed that much to the Headmistress who had taken her on at short notice last December. Besides, she might as well get some use out of her new flat before she had to sublet it. She would, of course, look for a teaching job in North Cornwall, eventually moving back to Port Wenn when a vacancy opened up. Her mind raced on and on; she felt the compulsion to imagine and plan for a hopeful and secure future as she had often done as a child. It was a way to protect herself from the onslaught of the flat out dejection and abandonment she would experience tomorrow.

Both Martin and Louisa fell asleep, alone and fretful, worn out by the busyness of their professional lives and the turmoil of their private lives. Each spent part of the night dreaming about the other.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as he entered the bedsit Martin knew their conversation would have to be postponed. There were empty boxes strewn over the floor near the kitchen cupboards.

Louisa shook her head, "I overslept this morning." Fretting about him had kept her up half the night. "There are still half the kitchen shelves to empty and the glassware to roll up in newspaper. I don't want Lindsay to have to spend time Friday helping finish all this. We were going to Portobello Market to buy some things for the new flat. I'll complete everything later tonight once you are asleep." Not that she would be able to sleep in the same bed with him as if nothing had happened after he broke up with her.

"No matter. Let me help. I can do the shelves. You spend time on whatever else needs doing." He took off his suit jacket and hung it in the closet.

"Thanks, Martin. Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"It would make all the difference. I'll just wrap up the last few pictures from the walls then pack a bag for home." She hadn't expected this from him and was grateful.

For the next two hours they watched each other warily, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Louisa watched Martin sitting on the floor, tie off, and shirtsleeves rolled up, intently wrapping up the china and glassware. How deft those hands were; how she would miss them. How she would miss him. Martin watched Louisa's ponytail flip from side to side as she moved. It had been clipped slightly shorter and more tailored since she had come to London; its movements more constrained. Had the same happened to the rest of her? Was it because of him?

Two hours later Louisa's bag was packed for Port Wenn, the bedsit walls were bare and the kitchen empty of everything but the final essentials.

"How about take away? I have pretty much cleared out the fridge, given I will be away until Thursday and moving on Saturday morning. There's a decent Thai restaurant on the high street. Would that be too spicy for you?"

"No, no. Thai food is good. Lots of vegetables and protein. The spices have several health benefits, particularly the chilies." They were both being so civil and restrained to each other that they had barely spoken in the past two hours.

As they made their way down to the high street they paused momentarily to look at the house containing Louisa's new flat. Martin nodded his head upwards.

"The third floor looks quite spacious. It's a large house and someone has done a decent job with the front garden. Nice trim on the balcony and front porch."

Louisa stared up at him in surprise. "Really? I didn't think that you thought much of the place when you were last here in August."

"Perhaps I wasn't seeing it properly then. Maybe the light was wrong."

As they waited for their takeaway order to be filled they walked up and down the high street. Martin stopped for a moment by the cashpoint. "There a quite a number of services here: a grocery store, banks, drycleaners, shops and restaurants and the Tube is just up the street. It's quite convenient for you to get a lot of your shopping and errands done at the end of the day on your way home from work."

Louisa couldn't think of a response. Last time he was here he was full of disparaging remarks and snide comments about the high street and the neighbourhood.

Dinner was a mostly silent affair. Amidst the plastic cutlery and foam containers they ate their Pad Thai and drank their glasses of water and kept their conversation sparse and limited. Martin mentioned that he was concerned about Joan's finances. He noticed that in the past few months she had been cutting back on a number of non-essentials. He asked Louisa if she would give him her opinion after she had dinner with Joan. Louisa agreed but thought it a strange request from someone about to break up with her.

When Martin took the garbage down to the bins, he took a minute to pull out the card from his breast pocket to review the list of subjects that he wanted to discuss. When he returned to the bedsit Louisa was standing by the window, staring at the darkening sky. "It's so much darker these last few days and there was a chill in the air on our way back," she commented, not looking at him and wondering whether he caught the metaphor regarding the state of their relationship.

Martin cleared his throat. "Louisa, there is something I need to say to you."

Oh God, here it comes. She braced herself for the brewing storm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This story continues next week …


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter Fifty Seven

Author's Note: Happy holiday weekend to those of you celebrating Labour Day. An extra long chapter to celebrate the unofficial end of summer for most of us in North America.

Martin, never good at reading the subtleties and nuances found in the spectrum of human emotions, had no trouble interpreting the ones currently flashing across Louisa's face. Apprehension and dread were unmistakably etched on those exquisite features. Her response startled him such that his mind went blank, causing him to forget the opening lines of the speech which had been so meticulously prepared. He reached inside of his breast pocket for the well thumbed white card that was his safety talisman.

Louisa, having watched him closely, immediately grew more alarmed. A list. He had made a list of everything which he found lacking in their relationship, in her. This was going to be much worse than she had anticipated. The abandonment alarm bells rang a warning so loudly in her head that she was in danger of not hearing anything he had to say this evening. She needed to sit down, to better brace herself for the full impact of his next words.

While Martin concentrated on rereading his note card for the umpteenth time, she contemplated where to position herself. There was a scarcity of choices: the kitchen table chairs, the sofa, the double bed in the corner. Every other spare surface was taken up with stacked, stuffed cardboard boxes; the large rectangular room felt even more claustrophobic and cluttered than usual.

Martin walked over to the table, removed his jacket, draped it fastidiously over a chair and leant back against the kitchen counter. He put down the note card. He grasped the counter edge with his palms and waited for her to settle. Louisa decided on the bed. She pushed herself high up on the pillows and stretched her long legs out in front of her so that she was facing him.

Here they were, two lovers about as far apart physically and emotionally as they could manage, polar opposites; the small space between them filled with trepidation and the knowledge that whatever passed between them on this night was destined to be monumentally significant and permanent. Each secretly wondered whether this would be the last time that they would be together in any room, whether in London, Liverpool or North Cornwall.

When he sensed that she was sufficiently settled, Martin looked down directly at his shiny black leather shoes and began speaking, "First of all, let me say how grateful I am for your assistance last weekend. Without you there the outcome might have been different – worse, certainly. You see, sometimes the human brain has difficulty sorting out the various and conflicting messages that it receives simultaneously from different regions and organs in the body. During times of great anxiety and perceived threats, especially when coupled with a lack of sleep and proper nutrition –"

He paused, glanced up from his shoes to where she was sitting far across the room and noted the perplexed expression on her face. He had started badly, he could see that now; this had not been intended as another medical lecture delivered to her in place of a sorely needed apology. That behaviour was his failsafe mechanism, the defensive posture he utilized to avoid dealing with emotional situations. But not this time. There were fundamental truths that must be exposed before it was too late, before she ended things between them. He shook his head and frowned. "This is rubbish. Allow me to start over." He felt suddenly confined and constricted. He wrenched off the tie that was choking him and unbuttoned the very top of his starched French blue shirt.

Louisa gave him a weak smile of encouragement. "Take your time, Martin. We have all night," she said quietly.

"What I am endeavouring to explain," he said forcefully, trying to push out the words that were never easily forthcoming to him, "to say, is … thank you coming to be with me last Saturday. I am cognizant and appreciative of all that you did for me … and attempted to do. Your presence was … um … comforting… steadying, in fact."

"You are most welcome," she murmured. This was good; she hadn't expected this acknowledgement. "I would do it again, in a heartbeat," she added sincerely.

There was more. "I ate and slept better because of you, because you were there, by my side. If I am completely honest … without your persistence I would not have contacted Dr. Travers prior to our usual Wednesday session." He wiped his perspiring forehead. "I suppose that I did not want to … admit … what was … um… happening to me. Hiding it, ignoring it, seemed to me the best option. The symptoms were still sufficiently minor in their manifestation that no one had yet spotted the problem. Except for you."

"Perhaps that's because by now I understand the nuances of your voice. I detected something that worried me. I didn't want you to be alone."

Martin's face paled. He looked stricken, thinking about what might have been, understanding that she had recognized it too last Saturday. He burst out loud, giving voice to his worst fear, "Louisa, what if I had vomited or fainted in theatre? My God, I could have harmed a patient!" He clasped his hands in front of him. He looked wretched.

She watched his eyes; they were brimming with terror. "But you didn't, Martin," she responded with every ounce of reassurance that she could muster. "You are back on track now. That's really good, isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose … I hope that I am. But I wouldn't have been without your intervention. I couldn't have kept things under control much longer – ". His distress was palpable. She watched the perspiration continue to bead on his forehead.

She pushed herself forward so that she was sitting at the edge of her bed, feet now firmly planted on the floor. She raised both palms in the air to stop him. "Please. Don't distress yourself. Don't chastise yourself any further. You did take charge again, sought help. Now you have all of the support that you require: Dr. Travers, the staff psychologist, your department chief."

"And you."

"Me?" Louisa was astounded. Was there more she could do? Did he want her for something?

"Yes, I need to ask a favour and I hope it won't be too much of an imposition for you." There was plaintiveness in his voice that she had rarely heard.

She stood up and walked over to the sofa, sat down on an armrest to face him. She could not imagine what he was attempting to ask her. "Anything, absolutely anything," she replied. This poor man stood so close to her, looking so unsure of himself and uncomfortable.

Martin pushed himself off from the kitchen counter and propelled himself forward. He walked the few steps to a kitchen chair and rested his large hands on its wooden back. "Perhaps it is too much to ask … it is selfish of me … considering how badly I handled things with you last weekend." He was holding this conversation more with himself than with her, speaking so quietly that she could barely hear what he was saying.

"Tell me, Martin. If it is something that I can do to help you then I would be glad to do it," she replied eagerly, her eyes encouraging him on, willing him to speak. She chewed her lip anxiously.

"Um … I require a layperson to … no, that's putting it badly. I need … no … I would like someone who knows me well to act as sort of a support, to listen … to be there for me to talk to … um … ventilate … let off steam. I'm not used to asking … don't know if I am explaining this right. If I can get things off of my chest when I first experience the pressure or any onset of symptoms, it would be of help." He exhaled a sigh of utter exasperation. "Is this making any sense … er … Louisa?"

"Oh yes. You have expressed yourself beautifully. You want a friend or family member that you can trust to act as your support system." Wow.

"That's it." His tone stiffened slightly," Surgery is a high pressure, high stress environment. Being in control of one's emotions is essential while one is on duty. But later, especially after a bad day, these emotions can resurface and if left unresolved they can … build up … become toxic. Travers has been encouraging me to find someone I can talk to, share my thoughts with. I really thought it was a rubbish idea until last week …" his voice trailed off miserably, he was fumbling for the right words, inwardly cursing himself for his verbal ineptness.

Noting his embarrassment, she thought it kinder to finish off the sentence for him. "You think that now, perhaps, his suggestion has some merit?"

Martin nodded. His face flushed red. He fiddled with a cufflink, unable to look directly at her. Asking for help was extraordinarily hard, so humbling. "You." His voice cracked. "I want it to be you."

She was astonished. Is this what he had come to discuss with her? Was he actually asking for her help? She barely had time to process the news when it occurred to her to think of what was best for him, to put his needs ahead of hers. "I am honoured that you would consider me but wouldn't you rather choose Joan? She's known you all of your life."

Martin shook his head.

"Or Chris Parsons? He can better understand what is happening to you from a clinical perspective and he's been your mate since medical school."

Martin shook his head again, this time more adamantly. "No. It has to be you. I want you. Only you possess the right qualifications for the job."

"I do?" Maybe there was something in her that he did need; maybe she was of use to him. She did matter. Her fears and insecurities of last Saturday night, that one way conversation she had with herself, it had been all wrong.

A voice deep inside urged him on; say it. Just say it. "Yes, Louisa … because you are my best friend."

"Oh, Martin." They were the only words she managed to get out before her throat constricted. His words washed over like cool water.

Since July she had worked so hard to encourage and teach this virtually friendless man to trust and confide in her, to become her friend. Until this moment, she had no idea just how seriously he had taken up her offer. She walked over to the kitchen chair opposite him and gripped its back. The distance between them now was very slight. For a moment they stood in silence, absorbing what had just transpired. He had called out to her from the stormy sea and she, she was the one who threw him the lifeline that would rescue him.

"So … er … you wouldn't mind?" he asked worriedly. He remembered again Dr. Travers' words from the summer. 'Who do you confide in? Who comforts you, Martin?' Louisa. Always Louisa.

"It would be a privilege," she answered huskily, blinking away tears.

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This story continues …


	58. Chapter 58

Chapter Fifty Eight

Martin coughed to ease his tension, searching for something to temporarily distract him from the emotion of the moment. He took several deep breaths then glanced at the window ledge. "The aloe vera plant seems to be coming along nicely."

"Yea, it's grown a bit these past two months. Probably do better in the new flat, considerably more sunlight there." Louisa took advantage of the moment to collect herself, wipe away her tears and take in what had just passed between them.

"It won't be easy for you, you know. It may be a daunting task. I don't like discussing my emotions," he said briskly, returning to the matter at hand and drumming his fingers nervously on the chair back.

Louisa shot him an amused, fleeting look, careful not to tease him. "I've had reason to notice, these past four years."

"I can be a difficult person. I … know that I can be hard to talk to sometimes," he admitted with a mixed degree of shame and self-awareness.

She nodded emphatically in agreement, diplomatically electing not to add further commentary.

"Last Saturday … my conduct towards you … I'm sorry for how I treated you, the things I said." He looked away, uncomfortable, feeling himself stripped down to the rawest of vulnerabilities. What had Travers coached? Tell her everything. Allow yourself to trust her. There is nothing to be ashamed of. "I was worried … panicking … embarrassed for you to see me weak and not in control of myself…"

Louisa let go the back of the chair and moved around the table to place one cool, reassuring hand on top of his large, perspiring one. He pushed back his chair from the table and plunked down upon it; all of his strength depleted by the length and breadth of his confessions. His stamina now exhausted by the surge of emotions, his vigour used up.

Louisa pulled out the other chair, moved it near to his and sat down. She could see the toll his words had taken. He needed to rest for a few minutes, to recede temporarily from the intensity. She placed her hand once more on top of his. He did not look up, instead intertwined his fingers with hers as tacit acknowledgement. A quiet interlude ensued while they both marshalled their thoughts.

She remembered the moment when Martin had opened the back door of his cottage in early July to find her standing there, for the first time since November. She had known then with absolute certainty that she wanted him back. It was nights like these that confirmed why. Tonight he was extraordinary; the gift he had offered was something she had always sought from him. He was also changed. The old Martin of years past would have avoided this discussion, steered clear of the difficult and intensely painful subjects, stormed off, never have been able to muster a true apology, perhaps not even perceived the need for one. If she had ever wanted to see, to talk to the 'real him', this was it. The stick of rock was fully unearthed, excavated and exposed.

"My love, I don't think of you as weak. Quite the contrary. Seeking help, recognizing when you need to, the steps which you have taken this week, all of that takes real courage. I think you are very brave indeed." She reached across the table to clasp his free hand and to caress his fingers with her own. The two of them sat like that, side by side, both hands joined, saying nothing, possessed of calm, enjoying another serene intermission.

Louisa felt that the other half of his apology had to be addressed if for no other reason than it continued to hang between them, dragging them both down with its oppressive weight. She also knew that for her self-respect she needed to make him understand that his words of last weekend had cut deep, that she could not always tolerate or look beyond the worst of his behaviours. There had to be limits, both for herself and for him if she was to become his confidante and a true source of support.

The old Louisa, of years past, might have chosen to angrily berate him, hammered home in sharp, staccato tones her displeasure. She had learned lessons since then and had striven, apart from the evident setbacks, to use what she now knew. Tonight, when everything was of consequence, she instead chose to be soft spoken, neither to castigate nor to chastise.

"Martin", she began calmly, slowly and with her voice deliberately pitched level, "everything you mentioned is true. And yes, some of the things you said and did hurt very much. Telling me to shut up, for instance. Demeaning my career, for another. I do teach more than face painting and you know it. No, I am not an elite vascular surgical specialist considered one of the best in the country but I do love my own job and I'm pretty good at it and there is a great deal of value and importance in teaching children."

Martin nodded complicitly. Her decision would be rewarded. He chose in response to listen without his usual defensive postures, condescending remarks or stinging rebukes. Surgeons trumped primary schoolteachers every time but there was no point in reopening that dispute again tonight. However he could not deny the veracity of her words concerning her own career. Both Louisa and Travers had warned him of this before. Time to heed the warning then.

She recognized that he had chosen to forego his customary belligerence. Good. "Right. So how about we set some ground rules then? For when you are ventilating or upset about your blood thing or even for when you are just having a plain old bad day. Some guidelines to follow so that you don't displace your anger onto me instead."

"Like what?" He was indeed paying attention, anxious to find a way of preventing a reoccurrence of last Saturday's behaviour.

"Well, maybe you could make an effort not to strike out verbally at the person who is lending a sympathetic ear? When you lash out or insult me, my hackles rise and usually an argument ensues between us, culminating in one of us storming out."

"Yes." It was clear that he could and should no longer slap the hand that reached out to help him. This was less a concession and more of an acknowledgement that his behaviour must change.

"How about not making me or whomever the target of your anger as a way of defending yourself or avoiding your own emotions? Perhaps stop shooting off arrows at everyone in sight?"

He turned to stare at her fixedly. He frowned. "Whom besides you did I berate on Saturday?"

She resisted the urge to lose her patience with him; evidently his bad tempered behaviour with the waitress hadn't even registered on his radar. This was to be a teachable moment, not one of haranguing him. "That unfortunate and scared girl attempting to wait on our table at the restaurant. I'm sorry, Martin but I do have to tell you that you were quite horrid to her. She was in tears by the time we left, poor thing."

"She was inept," he snorted, waving his hand dismissively.

"A little bit perhaps. Terrified definitely. When she spilled the water she was pouring into your glass, it was only because her hands were shaking. But that was all the more reason to have some compassion for her." Louisa smiled at him sympathetically."Maybe she was having a very bad day or week, just like you. No one in your hospital department berated you because you were subpar, did they?"

"Does it really matter that much to you?" It seemed to him, in his perfectionist ways, that a person's incompetence should be pointed out to them.

She looked at him earnestly, trying to convey her depth of feeling. "It does, yes. It does especially when I am the one sitting next to you, feeling the need to apologize for your bad behaviour, when I'd rather be expending my energy attempting to find a way to help you when you have had a difficult day at work. You can't treat me or anyone else in that manner and not expect them to be offended. It's just not on. What do you think? Can you at least consider giving it a try? For me?"

"Alright. Fine. Don't know how successful I'll be, concerning other people, but I will attempt an effort – when you are present. Where you are concerned, I'll do my utmost." He wasn't prepared to promise more than that regarding other people, most of whom were idiots and deserved no better treatment.

"Good. Thank you. I realize that it will be a challenge but I do think that if you could at least try it occasionally you will find that people will reciprocate. Maybe less 'tossers' will be tossed your way."

She grinned at him, pleased that he was willing to make what must be, for him, a colossal effort. Sensing that the weight was now released from their collective shoulders, she stood up, intending to walk over to the kitchen counter to put on the tea kettle. When she saw Martin brush away a tear, she halted mid-step and clutched onto his shoulder.

She spoke with an alarm borne of sheer surprise. "What? What is it, Martin? Everything is okay between us now, isn't it?"

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This story continues next week with the conclusion of Part Four …


	59. Chapter 59

Chapter Fifty Nine

"I came here today thinking that this might be the last time I saw you; that quite possibly you wouldn't forgive me. I thought you would say that we were finished. No more second chances," Martin said, finding it impossible to look directly up at her, not wanting her to have visible evidence of his anguish. Unpeeling his emotional layers was excruciating, even when necessary such as times like these.

Louisa leaned her body against his shoulder, bending slightly to stroke his hair and kiss his furrowed forehead. "Shh. Come on. Come with me," she murmured.

She took his hand firmly in hers, led him over to the sofa and motioned for him to sit down. Silently she knelt beside him, giving her the extra height needed to achieve an almost level plain with his face. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gathered him in close to her body, her chest pressed against his, her cheek nuzzling his.

She murmured, "I thought the same thing. That you were coming here today to break up with me, that you didn't need or want me in your life anymore now that you have exited Port Wenn and on your way to becoming an accomplished surgeon once again."

"But that is simply not true!" He moved backwards on the sofa, gently pushing her away so that he could see her face clearly. He placed a hand on either side of her upper arms and stared fully into her eyes, mustering the courage, on account of her distress, to speak the thoughts that he had kept private from her since July.

Louisa exhaled deeply. "This summer we promised to talk more, so that we would better understand what the other was thinking. We both forgot that pledge, it seems, amidst the stresses of this Autumn." She kissed his cheek and traced the soft skin of his earlobe with the single, elegant movement of one slender finger.

He shook his head emphatically and spoke more to himself than to her. "It's been futile; all of my work since May to try to make you happy, to be worthy of you. For you to believe, as late as today, that I didn't want you – it means I've failed. I thought that in my sessions with Dr. Travers – that I was making progress."

She was genuinely perplexed. Instinctively she sat backwards, still kneeling, so to better scan his face. She brushed back a loose strand of hair on her forehead and raised an eyebrow. She said quizzically, "Your work with Dr. Travers? What does your haemophobia have to do with our relationship? Or me?"

"Not the haemophobia."

His brain started buzzing, thoughts crisscrossing back and forth. It was time to tell her; to make her understand what he had tried to do and had undergone. "After you left Port Wenn I was rather … distressed … and angry … with myself because I hadn't known how to talk to you. I was frustrated because I didn't know how to make you happy. Human interactions and relations are a puzzle to me. You have reason to know that. Dr. Travers felt that I should discuss it with him; that it would make me feel better. I was somewhat … reluctant … in the beginning. Not really a compliant patient."

Louisa gave him an affectionate, sympathetic laugh, picturing a frustrated Dr. Travers, whatever he looked like, trying to cope with a noncompliant Martin. "I'll bet. Stubbornness must be a dominant gene in both our gene pools."

Martin caught the joke and the smallest of smiles appeared on his lips before he returned to being in earnest again. He locked his arms around her waist. She gladly welcomed them and the security they signified.

He continued, needing to make clear to her what had been his catalyst. "It wasn't until I received your note telling me that you were coming back to Port Wenn for the summer that I finally agreed to talk about you with Dr. Travers. He said it would help. I was …. mildly … depressed … you see … not sleeping well or eating properly,"

Louisa kissed him tenderly on the lips, brushed the side of his head with the soothing touch of one palm, willing away his memories of that painful episode. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the comforts she conveyed. "Oh, Martin. I'm just so sorry. We were both so miserable and neither of us did anything much about it, at least in the beginning."

He opened his eyes, anxious to dispel that dismal notion. "But we did – eventually, didn't we? You came back prepared to give us another chance and I … well … Travers guided me concerning ways I might talk to you, not shut you out or push you away."

Louisa slapped her thigh lightly, the spontaneous gesture almost causing her to fall, prevented only from toppling over by Martin's arms which still clasped her tightly. She exclaimed, "I thought you had changed! Even that first Saturday evening when we had dinner at the Bosmans' house, I felt it. You were more approachable. Softer. It gave me a glimmer of hope. But Martin, it must have been a difficult experience for you, exposing your private thoughts like that. You are so self-sufficient, so self-reliant."

"Let's just say that Travers had rather a trying time of it at the beginning. He's a persistent old bugger, fortunately. I doubt though that he would have been able to crack me if you had not written back in May."

"You mean my thank you note for your birthday card?" She was confounded. Its contents had been no more than a few sentences. What possible motivation could that terse missive have sparked?

"Yes. When you wrote that you were coming to Port Wenn for the summer, it gave me incentive and hope for a new start between us. That's when I became determined to crack on or rather, to let Travers try to crack me." His hold on her waist tightened slightly. His voice took on a more intense tone." You have been a major source of discussion between us ever since. Nothing in my life ever prepared me for you. Some days you are all I talk about in my sessions - about getting it right with you."

Louisa bit her lip. That he would do this for her. Her arms went around his neck once more. "Oh, Martin. I had no idea. Thank you. For you to do something so generous …" She buried her head in his shoulder, wanting to feel the certainty and comfort of his body against hers.

"Not really so generous, Louisa," the sound of his voice muffled in her hair, "I told you, at almost exactly this time last year, when we became engaged, that I couldn't bear to be without you. I meant every word of it."

She moved to look at him again, taking his face into her hands. She felt ashamed, twisting her face into one of regret. "Thank you. I should have had more faith in you last weekend instead of thinking that you didn't want me anymore. Another rush to judgment, I'm afraid."

"I'm not very good at saying what I feel. I don't talk …."

"You are doing brilliantly tonight."

"Whenever you think that way, whenever I push you away - and it will likely happen again, I prefer to retreat and withdraw. You know that only too well. Try to remember the words I wrote to you in that poem."

"Yes." Her thoughts pivoted to the dog eared card so carefully packed away in one of the cardboard boxes sitting on the floor near their feet. She had purchased an antique silver photograph frame, intending to safely encase it therein. Thus it would be ready to sit in a place of honour on a chest of drawers in the bedroom of her new flat. In her mind she now reviewed the words found on that much thumbed page, admonishing herself for not having deliberated on them last weekend, in that darkened cinema, when she had sorely doubted both Martin and herself.

The words described her as his refuge from what he perceived to be a harsh and brutal world; one where he was unwanted, taunted and solitary. She bore him to a place of serenity, tranquility and bliss; a wholly fresh and unique experience for him. She was his precious guide towards the possibility that if he allowed himself, and with her as co-pilot, life could be less endured and more enjoyed. Where she would lead he would follow; albeit sometimes stumbling, backsliding, not surefooted but he resolved to get there in the end.

They fell silent again, holding onto each other, words unable to provide further compensation or expression of what they wanted the other to understand. More than friends, not yet full partners, they sought to convey the growing depth of emotion for one another in the best way they knew how, in the tangible, tactile language of lovers.

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Later, they wrapped around each other in a naked intimacy both physical and emotional; hands clasped, legs intertwined, bodies pressed snug, they fell soundly asleep as if drugged. Exhaustion filled them, borne not solely of spent desire but of something more important: knowledge disclosed, secrets revealed, confessions made, promises extracted.

There was contentment too and a kind of self-satisfaction in understanding that they had encountered a major obstacle and had striven together to engineer a way through it. Neither was so naïve as to believe that all of their problems had been miraculously solved or dissipated because of one night's thorough airing. A good sailor is always watching the horizon for indications of approaching storms. In this case the barometer read that foul weather was brewing.

Martin felt ready to finally overcome the oppressiveness of his phobia, the joy of returning to the repair of veins and arteries, the stimulation of heading up a surgical team, the intellectual challenge of medical research and writing, the anonymity and privacy of life in a bustling city with Louisa.

Louisa felt the tug of home, the desire for things familiar and friendly, the wish to assist in the welfare of her community, the ticking down of her procreating clock, the urge to settle down as a family and make a proper home with Martin.

An experienced sailor would take his bearings, make the necessary calculations and come to the wise conclusion that no boat, not even Martin and Louisa's fair craft, could sail in two divergent directions at the same time.

END OF PART FOUR OF RESOLUTIONS

Author's Note: Thank you to all readers and reviewers for providing me with the encouragement and motivation to keep on writing this tale of our two favourite DM characters. It is time for another pause in this story. Wishing you all well until we meet again later this Autumn.


	60. Chapter 60

Resolutions: Part Five

Author's note: Wishing all the readers around the world a happy and healthy New Year. Part Five of Resolutions takes place over a three hour period on a single night. For this reason, some readers might want to wait to read all its chapters in one sitting.

Chapter Sixty

It was a glittering soiree. Most of the gentlemen wore tuxedos; most of the ladies were adorned in stylish designer gowns and outrageously expensive, ornate shoes. A popular local quartet accompanied by an adroit and versatile singer, pumped out non-descript smooth jazz medleys to facilitate the digesting of the four course dinner and belted out light pop tunes for the post-meal dancing pleasure of the party attendees.

Each circular table, seating eight, was laid out with elegant dinner flatware, brightened with colourful bouquets of early winter flowers, draped in starched white linen tablecloths and lit by a single silver candelabra sporting twinkling navy and silver candles. Waiters and waitresses, bedecked in black and white uniforms accessorized with black bow ties and white gloves to solemnize the occasion, efficiently served all four courses on the good hotel china and cleared away the remnants on wide silverplate trays. Bottles of thoroughly decent red and white wines sat open on every table, ready to be poured into crystal goblets for the unrestrained imbibing pleasure of every party guest.

It was universally agreed by the invitees to this, the annual Royal Liverpool Staff Christmas party, that this year's organizing committee had outdone itself. The theme, "A Snowflake Kingdom" was both in good taste and politically correct, offending no one with its shiny metallic snowflakes hanging from the ceiling and walls of the posh main ballroom in the Liverpool Arms Hotel.

No one was offended, that is, excepting Mr. Martin Ellingham, newly recertified vascular surgical consultant and vascular research project senior officer. As he sullenly stared through the ceiling to floor windows at nothing but the blackness of the Mersey River, he brooded upon this annual party, pronouncing it nothing but a colossal waste of time and money; both scarce resources that, surely, could have been better spent improving patient care. He would not have come, could not have been persuaded under any circumstances but for the fact that his department head had demanded it.

For purely political reasons of his own, the Chief was anxious to parade his new star employee before all and sundry. Budget deliberations for the coming year were well underway. The shrewd Chief of Vascular Surgery was angling for a hefty increase in allocations predicated upon his department's canny ability to attract the formerly celebrated Martin Ellingham and what he was already doing to raise the department's national profile a mere ten weeks after his arrival at the hospital. Martin, while making himself available for all medical consultations, seminars and rounds, had carefully eluded every social gathering. The Chief's intention tonight, which had failed miserably, was to prod Martin into interacting socially and presumably favourably, with key hospital administrators, especially the Chief of Staff and the Chief Financial Officer. Martin had bested him, speaking predominantly in monosyllables and even then mostly at the prompting and prodding of his very pretty dinner date.

Martin sucked in his breath and exhaled it in one, extended, miserable sigh, wondering how much longer he need remain imprisoned in this clattering, nauseatingly glittering room. He contemplated whether his attendance tonight was punishment for shunning every coffee and donut "get together" since October 1st. The only thing that made this intolerable party tolerable was having Louisa by his side. She, at least, seemed to be having a reasonably good time.

As he attempted to marginally loosen his stiff and chafing collar, Martin turned his attention away from the river and towards a more intriguing sight; Louisa was charming the Assistant Head of Vascular Surgery seated most attentively to her left. Martin chided himself now for not having told her at his flat how absolutely magnificent she looked; something that in his nervousness, annoyance and irritation at having to attend tonight's party, he had forgotten to do.

He still wished she had permitted him to buy her new dress and shoes. She had stubbornly refused, of course; a subconscious attempt, no doubt, to maintain her financial independence. She had explained that she would have had to buy it anyway in January for the Tarlington Hall Annual Fundraising Gala. All the senior staff were required to attend and work. Unbeknownst to her, the Headmistress intended to exploit Louisa's good looks and charm by placing her at the silent auction table with instructions to lure, tease and cajole wealthy donors into bidding generously on useless items that they neither wanted nor couldn't have their personal assistants buy cheaper elsewhere. Martin, who had balked at Louisa's suggestion that he purchase a tuxedo for tonight's party, had at least placated her by having his tailor whip up a beautifully cut navy suit.

Now he appreciated the money and effort she had spent on herself. The tailored and tight lines of her full length dress flattered her slender figure. The jewel-like, purple colour heightened her peaches and cream complexion and intensified the greenish grey of her eyes. The sarong design meant that one shoulder and collar bone were gracefully exposed and a single side slit in the lower half tastefully allowed the interested viewer an occasional, tantalizing glimpse of one taut calf and knee. The velvet brocade black shawl that hung off of her tight arms elegantly matched the pattern on her evening shoes, the four inch height of their heels purposely chosen in the hope of somewhat bridging the nine inch gap when she stood next to, or just possibly, danced with Martin tonight.

She wore no jewellery excepting the ever present silver and amethyst ring and a large sterling silver clasp that kept her hair interwoven and swept into a bun similar in style to their aborted wedding day. Louisa guessed that the dress, shoes and professionally styled hair cost her the near equivalent of three months' lunches and dinners. She had wanted to make Martin proud.

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Appearances to the contrary, Louisa was not having the good time Martin imagined she was having. Extroverted in nature, she loved a good house or pub party where everyone was relaxed and genuinely glad to be in each other's company. This evening bore none of those happy characteristics. Yes, the room was beautifully decorated, the fusion French cuisine had tasted delicious, and the music was upbeat and well played. But, oh, the people. One half seemed bent on flaunting their surgically enhanced youthful looks, expensive jewellery and fine togs while deprecating everyone else's lesser offerings. The other half was self-absorbingly engaged in ingratiating themselves with their superiors whilst simultaneously denigrating their peers. Louisa didn't much care for it, having witnessed similar behaviour at last year's Tarlington Hall gala.

Nonetheless, Louisa willingly played her part as Martin's escort, smiling affably and engaging everyone at her table in conversation, tactfully steering her dinner companions away from Martin's surly looks, snide remarks and general telegraphing of his reticence and contempt in everyone's direction but hers. Following dinner she suffered no lack of willing dance partners despite Martin's categorical refusal to spin her even once around the busy dance floor. How she wished he would, that she had been able to entice him for a single waltz. Even that one, fleeting experience swaying in his arms would have made this evening more bearable. She understood, however, his social limitations, knew instinctively and from the occasional looks he shot her, that he was grateful for her presence here tonight.

Louisa was less than impressed by the arrogant behaviour displayed by two of Martin's junior consultants. One had openly flirted with her while aggressively sweeping her across the dance floor. The other had pompously offered himself as a willing candidate should she ever tire of the stuffy, older surgeon. Had she heard them afterwards sniggering about what hypnotic suggestions and mind altering drugs Martin must have administered to attract and retain her, she would have been both outraged and indignant on Martin's behalf. She would have been deeply mortified had she later learned that she was the number one topic of conversation on Monday morning around the department's proverbial water cooler. The general consensus was that it must be Martin's money that she was after, for what other reason could she possibly be induced to stay in a relationship with such an abrasive and socially inept human being?

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The cash bar now open, the speeches concluded, the door prizes all handed out, all of the members of their table quickly made polite exits to avail themselves of additional liquor or to visit friends sitting elsewhere in the room. Louisa hoped that she and Martin would not experience the humiliation of being left alone at their table for the rest of the evening. She knew no one else in the room. The expression on Martin's face radiated displeasure, discomfort and disinterest. It served as a beacon dissuading any brave soul from venturing nigh.

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This story continues on Saturday …..


	61. Chapter 61

Chapter Sixty One

"Would you mind if we borrowed Martin for a few minutes, Miss?"

Louisa looked up to see two tall, thin, tuxedoed men smiling down at her. Having introduced themselves as senior consultants in the neurosurgery department, they explained wanting to discuss an idea with Martin but that it had been near impossible between their three very hectic schedules to find the time in which to do it. Louisa was certain that Martin would refuse; she was astonished and pleased when he beckoned them to sit down. The three men moved to the far side of the table across from Louisa.

This left her, unintentionally, completely to her own devices. She could not hear what they were saying over the music, which had been ratcheted up in volume since the cash bar had opened, and doubted whether she would have understood their discourse had it been sufficiently audible. She nursed the dregs of her second glass of wine and turned her attention wistfully away to where happy couples were spinning away on the dance floor.

Several minutes later she refocused her attention again on the astonishing scene unfolding opposite her. Far from having rebuffed the intrusion from the two surgeons, Martin appeared almost to welcome it. Louisa watched in amazement at the transformation in him. One of the men had taken a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, opened it and spread it across a section of the tablecloth. Martin surveyed it as if it were a treasure map. His eyes alight, his attention fully engaged, his fingers pursed together, lips curled marginally upwards in the slightest of smiles borne from the pleasure of intellectual pursuit and scientific curiousity.

Having flanked him on either side, fingers pointing repeatedly to various sections of the diagram, the two nodding neurosurgeons alternated between explanations, questions and hypotheses. At no time during his tenure as Port Wenn's lone, miserable GP had Louisa ever seen that heightened expression of professional excitement on his face, that level of professional animation in his eyes.

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"We only had a perfunctory introduction earlier this evening, Miss Glasson. I've been hoping for an opportunity to better make your acquaintance. It looks as if now would be an appropriate time, given that Martin seems to have temporarily abandoned you for the pursuit of medical knowledge. Judging by the concentration etched on his face, it looks as if he will be occupied for quite some time. May I?" The Chief of Vascular Surgery pointed politely to the empty chair beside her.

"Of course. Please do, Dr. Gray."

The Chief unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, sat down and glanced at the three men. He grinned. "Looks as if he's thoroughly enjoying himself, doesn't it?"

Louisa grinned back. "Yes." Her curiousity getting the better of her, she inquired, "Does that happen often?"

Dr. Gray nodded. "Other staff members seeking his professional opinion? All the time. He's a walking encyclopedia and his stint as a GP apparently only served to broaden the scope of his knowledge. His diagnostic insights are brilliant and he sops up every bit of medical information thrown at him. He's still learning the latest procedures and technologies but clearly he was keeping up with his reading over the past four years. Staying current. Evidently been quite anxious to get back in the saddle. Hoping for it for years. Can't imagine why he waited so long. He needn't have waited five years to have that wretched haemophobia treated."

Louisa hadn't known about that last bit. So, Martin had been keen for years to return to surgery. She had always assumed, without asking, that he had enjoyed the technical aspects of being a GP; it was just his patients that he couldn't stand. Had he always harboured a secret desire to be a surgeon again? If the haemophobia had been cured three years ago, would he have stayed in Port Wenn for her or been off in a flash to the London hospitals? She either hadn't really understood how he felt about practising surgery, or worse, deep down she had an inkling but wilfully suppressed her intuition in the hope that Martin would sufficiently grow to love being a GP and therefore remain in Port Wenn.

Louisa, lost amidst her own thoughts, and Dr. Gray amusedly watching the three surgeons in the throes of a particularly animated discussion, left a lull in their conversation. Martin had removed a pen from his suit pocket and was drawing lines from one section of the diagram to the other, shaking his head in dispute of a point. So intensely involved was he in that particular discourse, he had failed to notice the Chief's appearance at their table.

The band struck up a lively waltz. The dance floor began to fill again. The Chief stood and thrust out a hand. "Might I have the pleasure of a dance with such a lovely lady?"

"I'd be delighted." Stealing one more inquisitive glance at Martin, she left the table with her amiable dance partner.

The Chief was an accomplished dancer. He moved her expertly around the centre of the wood floor; one hand firmly on her waist, the other lightly holding her hand, discretely keeping her at arms' length so that they could see each other as they chatted. They whirled past the cardboard cutout facsimiles of fir trees, each shimmering in its coating of silver foil and blue tinsel.

"So you think Martin is fitting in alright?" She tried to disguise her apprehension with a casual inquiry.

"As well as can be expected. He's not really a social fellow, is he?"

Louisa shook her head in tacit agreement. She hoped that she wasn't about to hear that Martin had alienated one half of the staff and outraged the other half.

Dr. Gray flashed her a look of easy reassurance. "That's alright. We knew what we were getting when we hired him. His reputation at St. Thomas' and elsewhere preceded him. Four years in the wilderness of Cornwall obviously did nothing to mellow his temper or his disdain for mediocrity."

"No." She was relieved by his calm and good humour.

"Human resources has had to set him straight several times regarding terrorizing the medical students. Even the most arrogant of interns, residents and OR nurses cower when they see him coming. But everybody wants to follow him on rounds or attend one of his weekly seminars. The medical school couldn't be happier."

"And the haemophobia?" She held her breath in anticipation. Were the symptoms as much in abeyance as Martin had led her to believe?

"After that initial scare in October, the symptoms have abated. He's assisting with surgical procedures now. Our staff psychologist continues to monitor him closely. Both he and Martin's therapist are satisfied with the progress. Your help has been of immeasurable assistance in getting him over the hurdles. Martin told me that you have been a great support to him otherwise I wouldn't be discussing it with you now."

Dr. Gray saw the relief on Louisa's face. "Martin has been cleared to begin leading a surgical team later next month. No major surgeries for awhile although he's chafing at the bit to begin. No endovascular aneurysm repairs certainly but he's breezing through all the vein stripping and carotid stenting we can throw at him. To be blessed with that brain and those golden hands! Not to worry, Miss Glasson. " He turned her smoothly once more in time to the music until they were directly under the silvered mirror ball.

"I'm so glad."

"Pardon my asking but it can't be easy for you both. Living apart, I mean. Shuttling back and forth between residences almost every weekend. Martin told me that you do the lion's share of the travelling?"

The question had been benign but Louisa stiffened at its implication. "Yes."

He shook his head. "Forgive me. I wasn't trying to pry. It's never easy being the partner of a surgeon. Just ask my wife." He smiled. "I just wanted to thank you for your forbearance and patience and to put your mind at rest."

"Oh? How so?"

"It's my guess that your commuting will be at an end within the year. I expect that you'll have him back in London with you by next December."

Louisa's eyes widened. "What?" She missed a beat in her surprise and only narrowly avoided stepping on the Chief's patent leather shoes.

"Much as we'd love to keep him, I doubt we can afford to, although we'll give it a go and make our best offer. Anyway, I'd very much doubt that he will want to stay in a comparative backwater hospital like the Royal Liverpool. He should be with the very best. The London hospitals are already sniffing around, checking up to investigate if he is indeed up to snuff as in his previous days and if the haemophobia is truly evaporating. Did he tell you about the web seminar he's going to lead?"

Louisa shook her head, feeling all the exposed muscles in her arms, shoulders, neck and chest slightly contract in anticipation.

Dr. Gray hadn't noticed and continued on with his good news. "No? Probably too modest. It's common knowledge so I'm not breaking any confidences. There is a nationally broadcast monthly seminar for everyone doing vascular. It's run by Imperial in London. Very prestigious. All the big names participate. It's an honour to be called to present. Last week they asked Martin to be the presenter for March. I don't mind saying that it is a feather in the cap of our little hospital and for him too."

"Sounds wonderful."

"Indeed. It's early days yet but I shouldn't be at all surprised to find a few job offers coming Martin's way from London at the end of his first year with us. Not the top positions right away but that's only a matter of time. At almost forty-seven years of age, I'd say that Martin is well on his way to resurrecting his surgical career. Likely a department head's job is in his future. Nice for the two of you. Martin practising surgery, thriving at the top of his field: teaching, conducting research, publishing again. Finally a permanent home for you both in London. Couldn't be a rosier future, could it?"

Louisa smiled weakly in agreement, trying to muster more enthusiasm than she felt. "Just marvellous."

The song ended with a dramatic percussion finale. Dr. Gray squired her gallantly back to the table where the three surgeons still remained locked in conference. After thanking her for the dance, Dr. Gray bid goodnight and went off to fulfill his social responsibilities to the other department colleagues and their spouses. Louisa was left alone to catch her breath and contemplate the unexpected news.

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This story continues next Saturday ….


	62. Chapter 62

Chapter Sixty Two

Louisa's mind was scampering off down two very different tracks. On the first track her unselfishness prevailed and she rejoiced. She could not be happier for Martin nor did she begrudge him one iota of his newfound success. She was also pleased that she had been able to play a part in alleviating his haemophobia symptoms. If Dr. Gray's comments were truly more than idle speculation or flattery than everything Martin had hoped for, all of the plans and aspirations he had shared with her in August in Port Wenn were finally coming to fruition. August in Port Wenn. How long ago and far away that now seemed. Had she required any further proof or confirmation of Martin's contentment or his intellectual satisfaction and re-emergence into the surgical milieu, she need only look across the hotel table at the fascinating scene playing out in front of her.

Barreling down the other, less noble track, Louisa witnessed all of her own plans and dreams rapidly vanishing in the fresh wake of Martin's success. She vividly remembered telling Lindsay in August how she hoped Martin would spend the next year finally conquering his haemophobia and returning to surgery. But the corollary ,which she had truthfully but reluctantly admitted, was that she also wished this contract in Liverpool would serve as a flushing out, an opportunity to expel it all from his system once and forever.

Her most fervent and honest prayer was that Martin would indeed become a successful vascular surgeon again but that he would discover that it did not make him as happy as he had anticipated. In this, her favourite scenario, he would realize that ministering to the welfare of a thousand souls and bodies in a tiny hamlet in North Cornwall and, being in a loving and stable relationship with an adoring wife and children, would prove far more fulfilling than the lure of the scalpel. That he would realize that there was so much more to life than just his career and so many more things at which he could excel. Most crucially, Louisa hoped that the life for which she yearned, had dreamt of for years, would be the one that he would also crave.

In the span of a few minutes tonight this much cherished dream had seemingly dissolved: the large house by the sea; she and Martin spending the rest of their careers tending to the health, education and welfare of her beloved village; being surrounded by their trusted friends in a cherished community. Nevertheless, Louisa did not want to crush or impede Martin's aspirations. She knew herself to be more in love with him than ever these past ten weeks. A significant portion of their insecurity had dissipated, replaced by a newfound sense of understanding, trust and balance.

On the October night they had become engaged last year, Louisa had told him that he was an extraordinary man. She had never been more firmly convinced of this than on that astonishing night this October when he had asked for her support, declared her his best friend and revealed that he had been working hard to uncover the man that she had always been convinced lay hidden beneath his prickly exterior. Those declarations had been extraordinary indeed.

Never before in her life had someone actually been motivated to change themselves for her benefit and welfare. Not her mother, who, craving excitement and romance, had bolted out of Port Wenn and motherhood into the arms of Xavier, her Spanish lover. Not her father, who had refused to seek counselling for his gambling addiction, instead often spending the weekly food money on a misplaced hunch at the race track. Not Danny, who had rhapsodized about the idyllic married life they would have living in Port Wenn at his mother's renovated home then was willing to jettison much of what she held dear in life for the sake of his own career.

Louisa did not want this extraordinary man to disappear from her life; at this moment she could not fathom any other alternative than smashing her own dreams to pieces. A wave of palpable disappointment and unfiltered comprehension washed over her. She took a consoling sip of water from the crystal goblet in front of her and considered making an unnecessary trip to the loo to repair her makeup. She gathered up her evening purse.

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"Louisa! Finally! We get a quiet moment to chat!"

She recognized the two women suddenly perched on either side of her chair: Lisa and Trudy. They had been introduced to her at the cocktail reception prior to tonight's dinner. Both were married to surgical consultants in Martin's department. It was almost difficult to tell them apart. Both were about the same height in their stiletto heels, deeply tanned, wearing unnaturally blond hair piled stiffly on top of their heads, expensively cut black gowns clung to their very thin bodies, dazzling diamond jewellery adorned their fingers, throats, ears and wrists.

"Might we sit and have a gossip?"

Louisa cringed inwardly and politely pointed to the empty chairs on either side of her. Martin didn't as much as raise his head, mercifully oblivious to their presence.

"I was just saying to Trudy," Lisa pointed in Trudy's direction and Trudy nodded as if on cue, "that we shouldn't hesitate a second longer to come over and have a good old gabfest. We were just waiting until the moment when we could have you all to ourselves." She nodded towards the three surgeons and then leaned in towards Louisa, her breath drenched in an assortment of the evening's liquors, "We've been dying to meet you."

"How nice." Louisa plastered a smile on her face. She was uncertain what to expect from these two.

"Oh my, yes! Our husbands haven't been able to get as much as a stick of information about you from Martin. He positively refuses to come to dinner. Both Trudy and I have extended several invitations. Haven't we, Trudy?"

Trudy's vigorous nod of assent shook the large diamond pendant at her throat. Lisa smiled, exposing a full set of gleaming white porcelain veneers. Louisa figured that Lisa's dentist must have been able to put at least one of his offspring through university on the strength of that repair job.

"You and Martin simply must come to dinner with the four of us at the Club next time you are in town."

"That's very kind. Thank you." Louisa smiled graciously, masking the fact that Martin would absolutely hate it. "But you see, I'm rarely here for more than two days at a time. It's not easy getting away from London." She was pretty certain that she would hate it too.

"Oh? Why is that? Do you work?" One eyebrow arched upwards towards Lisa's perfectly unfurrowed forehead.

Louisa sensed that Lisa knew more than she was letting on. Martin's secretary must be a gossip, trading secrets as currency. She couldn't see Dr. Gray spilling facts that Martin had revealed to him in confidence.

"Yes. I am a schoolteacher."

"Right." Lisa waived a hand dismissively in the air. "I worked too, as a paralegal, until Bill and I got married after he finished medical school. Once his surgical career took off there didn't seem to be much point anymore. It wasn't as if we needed the money." Trudy telegraphed a face of complicit accord, as if this was the only correct decision for a surgeon's wife to make. Clearly, neither woman thought there was much value in holding a job beyond its financial compensation.

Louisa bristled. "I really enjoy teaching children. I love my job. I would miss it if I had to give it up."

"If you really want to work, not to worry. We've got plenty of good schools in Liverpool. I'm sure you would be a welcome addition here. Heaven knows, my own lazy kids could use a decent teacher. Too bright for their own good." Lisa fiddled with the clasp on her diamond tennis bracelet. She leaned in again. "But you will be moving down here soon, now that Martin has bought a flat?"

So Lisa did know more than she was letting on. Everybody had Martin's cell phone number and pager. Almost no one in the hospital excepting Human Resources and Martin's secretary knew his new home address. Lisa had done her homework and was obviously on the hunt for some particular grain of information.

"No. I have my own flat in London," Louisa snapped. It was not exactly a fulsome answer. She wasn't about to give anything else away.

Lisa and Trudy exchanged meaningful glances. Louisa took a much needed sip of water to cool her temper and buy her sufficient time to marshall her thoughts. To be fair to these women, perhaps she was wrong. Maybe they were just trying to be friendly. On the other hand, maybe they were prying into Martin and her private lives, trying to discern the status of their relationship. She couldn't fault anybody for trying to solve that particular enigma: not married, no longer engaged, not living together, not even living in the same city. Louisa wasn't about to explain it to two strangers: it's complicated, you see, we are still trying to work it out for ourselves. We didn't get it right the first time. We are still finding our feet, still gingerly feeling our way forwards. We will send you an update when our current status changes.

"Oh dear. I guess we won't be able to entice you to join the hospital women's auxiliary. Most of the staff wives do, you know."

Louisa shook her head and attempted a not very convincing look of disappointment.

Lisa appeared perplexed then brightened. "At least you'll be in town over Christmas. Bill and I are hosting our annul party on the 21st. Everybody comes: friends, neighbours most of the senior staff in the Department. You and Martin simply must pencil it into your calendars. It's such fun."

Trudy finally summoned the courage to pipe up. "Yes, do come. It's brilliant. The best party of the season by far."

Lisa's unnaturally thick lips bestowed a generous smile on her friend.

Louisa fabricated more disappointment. "That is very kind of you both. I'm sure it will be a lovely party and we would love to attend if we could but Martin is on call that weekend and I'll be on my way home that evening."

Lisa and Trudy were mystified. "Home? You mean you're not from London?"

Surely her West Country lilt had made that obvious. "No, I'm from North Cornwall."

At least now they could place her country accent. They had been speculating about it over dinner at their table. "Ah, Cornwall," cooed Lisa, as if someone had just opened an expensive bottle of perfume underneath her nose. "Breathtaking scenery. We rented a cottage near St. Ives a few summers ago when the children were small."

At last, something they could all agree on. "Yes, it is beautiful, isn't it?"

Like a dog digging for a bone, Lisa had only one focus. "Perhaps you'd like to join Trudy, myself and another friend for lunch and a round of bridge at the Club when you get back?"

"Sorry. I don't play bridge. Maybe just lunch?"

This time Lisa and Trudy were genuinely scandalized. Who didn't play bridge? "Well, there's always golf and tennis in the Spring."

Louisa was getting tired of swiveling her head back and forth between the two women, watching each of them mirror the other's disapproval. To placate them she agreed to lunch at the Club in early January. This Club was evidently something they needed to show off to her. No doubt it was suitably expensive and elitist. Was this the lifestyle they would pressure her to take up? Playing sycophant? Martin would support her refusal; she knew that. But she could not brush off or snub these women completely. Martin had to work with their husbands and the two of them, as a couple, had to attend at least a few of the department social events during the calendar year. Surely there were other wives and partners who, like her, worked for a living and found pleasure and fulfillment in more useful pursuits? She would have to seek them out, whether here in Liverpool or if they moved to London.

"We simply must teach you golf, tennis or bridge. Most of the surgeons' wives play something and volunteer at the hospital gift shop. It's absolutely the done thing around here. You will change your mind once you are settled in -"

A gruff voice interrupted Lisa in mid-sentence. "Louisa is a very busy person with many important responsibilities. She doesn't have time for such hobbies. Didn't she tell you that she is a senior teacher at Tarlington Hall in north London? She spends what little free time she has coming down here to see me."

All three women simultaneously turned their heads in the direction of the voice.

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This story continues next Saturday …


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty Three

All three women simultaneously turned their heads in the direction of the voice. Martin was sitting alone, the two other surgical consultants having finished their discussion with him and been summarily dismissed two minutes previously. He had been listening with growing perturbation to the grilling which Louisa was graciously enduring. His intention had not been to ask her to buy a posh frock then rush down from London prior to the busiest week of school term in order for her to be humiliated by two insipid housewives.

"Tarlington Hall?" Lisa asked timidly, somewhat cowed by whom she was addressing. "Can't say I've ever heard of it."

"No. " Martin sneered, his upper lip curling in habitual disdain, disapproving eyes trained on Lisa. "Likely, you wouldn't have. It is rather elite. One of the best girls' schools in London."

Lisa and Trudy were taken aback.

"Come, Louisa. Let's dance." Martin rose abruptly and without apology. The simple act of standing protectively near Louisa and concurrently towering over the other ladies was enough to send the latter into shocked silence.

"Martin?" Louisa looked up at him quizzically, uncertain what to do next, waiting for a cue from him. She felt quite unprepared and stupid. He had never asked her to dance before and much as she had dreamed of this moment, she was at a loss how to handle it. Hold his hand? Take his arm? Lead him to the dance floor?

Martin did not offer her his hand nor did he gallantly squire her to the floor as others had done. He strode purposely ahead of her, his mind squarely focused on the task at hand, fingers curled tensely into balls in his palms. When he had selected a suitable spot in the shadows, away from the direct blare of the music and the lights, and as far away as possible from the mass of gyrating bodies, he turned on his heel to face her, waiting for her to move closer to him. When she was standing less than six inches away, her face a portrait of uncertainty, he pursed his lips, placed one hand lightly on her waist and awkwardly scooped up her right hand, clenching it tightly in his left.

"Ow!" She couldn't help utter an involuntary response to the pain.

"Sorry," he mumbled, automatically loosening his grip, now barely holding onto her fingers.

"It's fine. Really." She firmly intertwined her fingers with his and flashed him a reassuring smile. She looked up at him looking down at her and said shyly. "It's so nice of you to ask me to dance. We've never done this before."

"Um …. No," he said self-consciously, hoping he did not step on her elegant, if impractical, shoes. Why did women so torture themselves with their choice of footwear?

Not wanting to embarrass him but unable to quash her curiousity, she inquired, "Why did you – ask me to dance, that is?"

"To thank you for accompanying me this evening to this ghastly charade. … And you like to dance; I remembered that from Port Wenn. … It seemed the most logical way to release you from those harpies' claws. I could hardly accompany you to the washroom. Neither of us required a drink from the bar. This late in the evening you should be rehydrating yourself to counteract the dehydrating effects of the wine you've been drinking. You might want to drink a couple of glasses of water when we get home."

She grinned mischievously at him, choosing generously not to correct his notion that three glasses of wine spread over three hours made her a flaming drunk. "I was contemplating a trip to the loo but was afraid they might follow me."

She squeezed his hand. "I was about three minutes away from losing my temper so thank you for rescuing me in such a chivalrous manner." She snaked her hand, the one currently resting on his shoulder, up and around his suit collar. Thank Heavens for her four inch heels, she thought, silently complimenting the London saleswoman who had convinced her to buy them. In spite of her pinched toes they gave her sufficient height to comfortably reach up and touch his neck and shoulders.

"No need to thank me. I could see that those botoxed, anorexic, sunburnt snobs were giving you a hard time."

Louisa bit her lip. "Perhaps they meant well."

"No, they did not. Don't defend them, Louisa. They don't deserve your generousity of spirit."

"Perhaps not." She raised an eyebrow. "I think they were trying to find out more about us."

"Us?" He frowned, not comprehending.

"Yea. You know … our … um … relationship."

"Right. None of their bloody business. I should march right over there now and tell them that. Neither of their husbands can make a lateral incision worth his life."

The soft strains of the violin melding with the gentle tympani made Louisa forget everything else but the fact that for the first time since she had known him, she was swaying gently to actual, not imagined, music whilst in Martin's arms. Strictly speaking, only her own hips were swaying. Martin's hips, legs and arms remained virtually rigid. He was barely moving, turning in half rotating steps so tiny that both their bodies hardly registered the act. Nonetheless, Louisa was enthralled.

"Let's forget about them – and everybody else for a few minutes, shall we?" she murmured, savouring every glorious minute of it.

For the remainder of the four minute and sixteen second song, they did. For Louisa, it was unquestionably the high point of a trying evening. She chose to thrust aside her worries about where and how she and Martin would settle. She buried her annoyance with the Lisas and Trudys of the world. She ignored the hundred fears that smothered her about living the life which Lindsay had warned her against. For now, there was nothing else but the pleasure of being with Martin.

For Martin, it was unsettling. Much as he enjoyed embracing Louisa, much as he admired the elegance and sensual sophistication of her appearance tonight, much as he liked the feel of the silky material that hugged her body, the comfort she exuded in smoothing out his social awkwardness, he felt that the intimacy and intensity of such movements should be reserved only for the privacy of their own homes. He worried that his face might reveal the depth of his feelings for her; expose the pride, gratitude and pleasure he felt.

Despite himself, he could not stop his mind racing ahead to later, at his flat, when he would enjoy undressing her and ensure that she would enjoy being undressed. He succumbed to his own masculine desires, overriding his usual masterful self-control. His hand moved slowly, seemingly of its own accord, from the edge of her waist down to the small of her back. Had the song not simultaneously reached its crescendo, he would have heard the contented sigh she exhaled.

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Observing from a nearby table was the drunken junior consultant who had blatantly propositioned Louisa whilst dancing with her. He had been unsuccessful in convincing either of the young nurses at his table to come home with him tonight. He took another gulp of his brandy as he watched salaciously Louisa's hips sway in time with the music. He coveted the feel of her exposed alabaster shoulder, marvelled at her thickly woven chestnut hair, fiercely desired to hold her slender torso. When Martin finally turned her in his direction the junior consultant could clearly see her face. He could not believe what he saw. Louisa was actually smiling up at the old tosser, eyes adoringly riveted on his.

"Ellingham, you lucky bugger," mumbled the junior consultant before he took another long sip of his brandy.

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End of Part Five

**Author's note: Thank you to all of the readers who have graciously continued to read this story and have had the patience to put up with the lengthy intervals between parts. Part Six will start in February.**


	64. Chapter 64

Resolutions: Part Six

Chapter Sixty Four

Happy Valentine's Day

(Author's note: Part Six takes place all in one night, all in one setting and all in a period of three hours. Some readers might prefer to suspend reading this Part until all its chapters are published. Some readers might wish to reread Part Five as a refresher prior to reading Part Six.)

It was a rollicking, boisterous party. Most of the men wore their Sunday best; the ties and jackets being flung off once the dancing portion of the evening was in full swing. Most of the ladies were decked out in party finery, some of which had been specially purchased in Truro and Wadebridge for the occasion. The Port Wenn Players pumped out reasonable covers of popular dance tunes from the past thirty years, in deference to their elders. Periodically they managed to insert a current pop tune more to the liking of the gaggle of teenage girls dancing provocatively in front of the small stage.

Each square dining table, seating eight, was draped in starched white linens on loan from the church and meticulously ironed by the women of the parish auxiliary. Every table was laid out with cutlery borrowed from the Slipway Hotel, brightened with four red votive candles and pine boughs intertwined with sprigs of holly, in keeping with the spirit of the season.

The village hall was resplendent tonight in its festive décor. A Christmas tree stood in each of the four corners of the room, colourfully decorated in cranberry and popcorn chains strung by the Year Six students of Port Wenn Primary. Green and red paper streamers hung from the ceiling. Colourful paper chains, cut and glued by the Year Fours and Year Fives, coiled and twisted through the wooden rafters. Colour and black and white photographs of the lifeboat crews, past and present, saved and drowned, were taped to the walls.

The three course dinner was especially scrumptious, laid out as per tradition, buffet style with volunteers ladling out plentiful portions onto the plates of the appreciative diners. The meal surpassed criticism from even the village's best cooks, probably because most of them had a hand in the preparations. The Women's Institute, in tandem with the Parish Women's Auxiliary and amply supported by the local pubs and restaurants, had put together an impressive spread of winter vegetable and creamy tomato soups, braised cod and two veg entrees, homemade breads, two types of pie and a sticky toffee pudding served with a dollop of Cornish clotted cream.

It was universally agreed by the attendees of this, the Annual Port Wenn Lifeboat Society Fundraiser, that this year's organizing committee had outdone itself. The Fundraiser, always held three days after Christmas, in the hopes of attracting affluent family "from away" visiting for the holidays, brought out nearly everyone in the village who could afford the price of a ticket. It was universally acknowledged but rarely mentioned that even those villagers in "reduced circumstances" were granted admission and at a much reduced cost. After all, this dinner dance was more than just a fundraiser for a worthwhile cause. It was the grandest and most jovial expression of community spirit and togetherness in the entire calendar year.

The speeches were now over. The dinner dishes had been cleared away from every table by the waiters and waitresses of the local pubs; they having generously given up their evenings for the task. The cash bar had just reopened and the band amped up the sound. The lineup at the bar already stretched half way down the length of the room. The Crab and Lobster had donated the liquor at cost; all profits going to the Lifeboat Society Fund. The Large Restaurant, not enjoying the high profit margins of the other local dining establishments, had been unable to donate either food or drink. Nonetheless, eager to participate, both Al and Bert were assisting at the bar, ably flanked by the Crab and Lobster's two best bartenders. Bert was managing, discretely, to mention to each and every customer that the Large Restaurant would be doing a bang up New Year's Day Buffet at a very reasonable price.

It was indeed a glorious night in Port Wenn. The hall was awash in music, laughter and the general clatter of a community basking in the familial warmth that a sense of belonging, affection and mutual caring provides at this festive season of the year. Not to mention that a large sum of money was raised for one of the most important lifesaving organizations in a village whose fishermen and women braved the natural elements to earn a living.

Indeed, a good time was being had by all, excepting possibly the eminent vascular surgeon visiting from Liverpool. Over in a dark corner of the room, as far away as possible from the music and crowds, devoid of gossips and revelers, sat a glowering, simmering Martin Ellingham. Long abandoned by Louisa, Joan, Maureen and Roger, Lindsay and Alex, Martin had the table all to himself after they had all scurried off to crack on with their various volunteer duties. Martin was completely alone and glad of it.

He would not have come tonight, not under any circumstances, had it not been for the numerous protestations from Joan and the ardent petitioning by Louisa. They both felt that his refusal to attend tonight's dinner dance would have been a slap in the face to the village where he had lived and been employed for several years. In the end he had agreed, only to make Louisa happy, and because of the promise which she had extracted from him in mid-October: to be slightly more agreeable to others when in her presence. Louisa had lectured him to stay silent whenever he preferred to be surly and snide; if he had nothing good to say tonight then best to say nothing at all.

Martin, in spite of himself and loathe to admit it to anyone, had rather enjoyed the intelligent dinner conversation at his table. Roger had purposely engaged them all in a spirited discussion regarding the wasteful state of the country's finances, a subject bound to incite universal interest and indignation. Everyone had chimed in with their diverse opinions. Martin had thought that Lindsay's newly minted boyfriend of three months, Alex, a solicitor in Truro, had made some very astute and well-informed arguments. Even timid Maureen had bucked up to make a reasonably well-informed case for more funding for state schools, including Port Wenn Primary. At least at this table no one had fallen into a drunken revelry, gyrating their hips to the beat of the band or overstuffing themselves with three helpings of pudding.

Yes, he was glad to be the only solitary figure at any of the dinner tables in the hall. He was desperate for the respite. The only people brave enough to venture near him were several former patients anxious to seek a second opinion on a current illness or prescription dealt out by Martin's replacement. This replacement had shut the surgery over the Christmas week to beetle off on holidays in Greece with his girlfriend.

As Martin sat tapping his fingers impatiently on the table, trying to drown out the rather mediocre cover of a Beatles tune, he turned his attention towards the only pleasing prospect in the room. Finally a space had cleared in front of the raffle table and he could see Louisa straightening up the items on display. The raffle prizes were to be announced shortly; then she would have dispensed with the last of her many onerous duties for the evening. They could leave. Finally.

He had felt that she had taken on far too much responsibility for this event. It was, after all, her holiday too. Between her heavy workload at Tarlington Hall and the constant commuting to Liverpool, she was looking altogether too thin and too peaked lately. Despite his ample admonitions, she had volunteered to run the popular raffle table tonight. She had spent most of her time before and after Christmas helping to organize the last minute details, keeping the peace between the members of the Women's Institute and the Parish Auxiliary, and assisting in decorating the hall. She felt she could never do enough to atone for her father's theft of the Lifeboat Society money all those years ago.

Despite all of this, she had never looked happier, not for months. These last few days there had been a glow about her that he hadn't seen since … well … August. For a moment he wondered whether she could be pregnant. That could not be. She had menstruated two weeks ago. Besides, he kept detailed records of the ebbs and flows of her menstrual cycle. He needed to; he had to be meticulous in their contraceptive practices so that she would not become pregnant. That would be a disaster. Think of the ramifications for their future. He did the math. Due to their hectic schedules they had not had sex since the night of the Royal Liverpool Christmas Party, twenty one days ago.

He had only arrived in Port Wenn on Christmas Eve. She had been staying with Lindsay. He stayed with Joan on Christmas Eve and Christmas night so as to give her some company. She seemed so down lately about her finances and the growing number of repairs which the farm required. Louisa had thought it would cheer up Joan and give Martin some time to delicately and privately raise the sensitive subject of offering her a loan or a gift of money. As a result, Martin and Louisa had only moved into the posh new hotel at the edge of town, near Trelights, two nights ago. They had both been so tired that there had been little interest in sex on either of their parts.

No, Louisa could not be pregnant. It was physically impossible. It must be something else.

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This story continues next (not this week) Saturday …


	65. Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty Five

Martin puzzled over Louisa's condition for several more minutes. She did indeed look splendid tonight. During dinner, while she talked and laughed endlessly with their table companions, her eyes had sparkled and the auburn highlights in her lush hair positively shimmered whenever she swished her ponytail. The ponytail; it had made a reappearance every day since her return to Port Wenn. In Liverpool it had been mostly non-existent; rarer still on his few visits to London. Since taking on the teaching position at Tarlington Hall, she had kept her hair slightly shorter, more tapered and usually worn swept up in a tight bun or piled high atop her head. It leant a more classically elegant slant to her beauty but he had to admit that he preferred the mesmerizing flick and free flow of the ponytail and was not sorry to see its re-emergence these last few days.

He had barely a moment tonight to talk to her privately, much less to pay the compliments he wanted to offer but rarely did. People had been coming up to chat with her all evening: volunteers seeking advice or direction, former pupils wishing her a happy New Year, parents and neighbours wanting to say hello. He would wait until they were alone, in the king size bed, in the suite he had rented to give them privacy from prying eyes. For now he was content to gaze and admire her from afar, baffled and perplexed.

He had seen the tomato red cardigan before and the matching skirt which fell tactfully above her knees. The floral blouse with its vibrant reds, creams and greens highlighted her complexion and accentuated the colour of her eyes. She wore no other jewellery excepting the ever present silver and amethyst ring and the tank style watch with its stainless steel bracelet that he had given her on Christmas morning. She had been very touched by the watch, although had protested vehemently at the thought of what it might have cost. Martin wasn't one for giving many gifts but when he did, he did not stint on generousity.

"Whenever I look at it I will think of time well spent and that means time spent with you," she had whispered into his ear, arms sliding with familiarity around his neck, cheek nuzzling against his in the habit she had made of it.

He had been very pleased that he had made her happy; since July this was becoming a more and more frequent sensation – making her happy and the gratification he derived from it. Considering all of the instances when he had made her feel exasperated, embarrassed, despairing, angry, insulted, deflated and sexually frustrated; making her feel happy remained a novel experience. Aside from patching up someone or healing an illness, there weren't many occasions in his life when he could truly say he believed that he had given someone sustained pleasure. He had long ago given up trying with most people but not with her and he seemed to finally have gotten the knack.

As to that new watch, it gave him immense contentment that she would willingly, and for years to come, wear a daily reminder of his adoration and admiration for her. Not that he verbalized this sentiment, instead mumbling that he had noticed the small crack in the face of her old watch. Given his long experience repairing clocks, he had determined that it made more financial sense to replace rather than repair it. He further reassured her that the price was not out of line with the quality of the fine workmanship, the practicality and its dependable precise Swiss movements that could be relied upon faithfully to never let her down. Much like himself, he hoped. He explained that the price was not nearly as exorbitant as the luxury brands that traded more on the prestige of their names than the quality of their work; that regardless of the cost, he would have been quite willing to pay it on behalf of her welfare and comfort.

No, Martin could not put his finger on the root cause of Louisa's glow. At the Royal Liverpool Christmas party she hadn't looked quite as beautiful as tonight although that night the cut of her clothes had been far more sophisticated, her hair professionally coiffed, her makeup heavier and more thoroughly applied. It was not her outward appearance that was making the difference then. Her radiance must emanate from within. How curious.

As he watched her standing at the raffle table, arm in arm with one of her former teaching colleagues, he had a realization or rather one of the series of realizations that were to forcefully confront him throughout the evening. Louisa was truly happy and thriving here, at home, in her community. Her smile was so obviously genuine, her laughter unmistakably spontaneous, her joy unceasing.

"She looks like she's having a good time, doesn't she?"

Martin's musings were interrupted by Stu McKenzie standing beside his chair, stating the obvious.

"Mind if I sit down for a moment, Doctor?" he asked gruffly, upon receiving no response to his first observation and not expecting any. Martin grunted his reluctant permission, hoping against hope of relieving himself quickly of the Board of Governors Chairperson. He needed more time to ponder about Louisa.

"Everyone's glad to have her back, even if it is only for the holidays. She's been invaluable to the organizing committee, knows how to deftly settle the skirmishes and territorial squabbles."

Martin grunted again in tacit acknowledgement. Stu McKenzie was undaunted and unfazed. He would have his say regardless.

"What I wanted to tell you, Doctor, is that our Board of Governors appreciates having her here as well. You know that I am having lunch with Louisa tomorrow?"

"Yes," hissed Martin. Another drain on Louisa's dwindling holiday time. Was she never to get any rest? He sensed that McKenzie was leading up to a point. He wished it would come soon so that he could be left in peace.

"I thought I'd give you a heads up. I'll be telling Miss Glasson tomorrow that our Headmaster intends to vacate his position at the end of Summer Term. That's no secret. We were very grateful to him for stepping in last January following Miss Glasson's unexpected resignation but he had made it clear that Port Wenn was merely a stop gap in his career. He's not really interested in teaching, more the administrative type. At Port Wenn Primary you have to be both. Anyway, he's sniffing around for a desk job up north. Just as well, he's rather a penny pincher and a stickler for rules. Not like Miss Glasson. With her the kids always came first."

Martin clicked his tongue. He could not see what any of this had to do with him. The health, education and welfare of the village residents were, fortunately, no longer any of his concern or Louisa's.

Mr. McKenzie was painfully familiar with Martin's air of indifference. He felt he needed to persist, nonetheless. Ensure the pompous bugger got the message.

"The reason that I'm telling you this, Doctor, is because the Board will be encouraging Miss Glasson to reapply for the Head's position when we open the application process in February. We want her back and she's always made clear that this teaching job in London wasn't going to be permanent, if she had her way. Well, we want her to have her way. Not to put too fine a point on it but there it is. She refused us last Autumn Half Term when a teaching job became vacant. This is different. She's perfect for the Head's job. She understands this community and is committed to its welfare. We want her back, if she is willing to come home."

"Why are you telling all this to me? You are having lunch with her tomorrow." This news was unexpected. Martin needed time alone to process it.

"Because if you have any sway with her – and it appears you do, perhaps you could convince her to apply. We all know that the young GP who has taken over your practice is just filling in temporarily. So if you two are planning to come back here within the year, why not convince Miss Glasson to take up her old job again, starting next summer?

"Miss Glasson is free to make her own decisions," Martin replied tersely, suddenly wondering whether that was really true.

Mr. McKenzie, well used to Martin's contemptuous and rude ways, realized that this signalled the end of their conversation. Fine with him, he had said what he had come to say and did not feel it necessary to spend another minute in the pompous bugger's company. He stood up to leave.

"Wait. Mr. McKenzie, what makes you so certain that she wants to give up her senior position in London to be Headmistress in this village again?" Martin looked at him closely, brow furrowing with agitation and curiousity. His fingers twitched.

Stu McKenzie couldn't suppress his surprise. He answered forthrightly, "Because she still keeps up her interest in what's going on at the school. I shouldn't be telling you this but if anyone knows how to keep a confidence, it's you. As I said before, we haven't been too happy with some of the new Head's methods. Complaints from the staff and parents about the so called 'financial efficiencies'- miserly more like, and he's a real stickler for proper procedures. Miss Glasson's been giving me some advice over the telephone every few weeks on how to handle the situation. Good ideas too."

"Miss Glasson knows this village. She knows which children need extra help and which parents are short of money. She wasn't afraid to take a little extra money from some other part of the budget to do it. School supplies for those who couldn't afford them, breakfasts for those who wouldn't otherwise have them, that kind of thing. The new Head, he's done away with all that. Louisa doesn't want anyone to know, of course, but she's been a great help. So … to answer your question, Doctor, I'd say yes. Louisa's heart really is here."

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This story continues next Saturday …..


	66. Chapter 66

Chapter Sixty Six

The raffle prizes had been handed out twenty minutes ago, her duties now fully discharged; Martin waited impatiently for Louisa to return to their table so they could mercifully and finally vacate the Fundraiser. Stuart McKenzie's news had distressed and rattled him more than he cared to admit to himself. He wanted to be alone to contemplate the ramifications.

Louisa was still standing at the raffle table chatting with, what seemed to Martin, a never ending procession of villagers. At this moment two young women were parading their toddlers in front of her and she clearly loved it, clapping her hands together in applause to the delight of the mothers. Even from across the width of the hall, Martin could observe the broad grin on her face as she joyfully picked up one of the children in her arms. He gritted his teeth. That must be the seventh child she had cooed over or handled this evening. It would be a miracle if she didn't contract gastroenteritis or an upper respiratory infection before the week was out. And why did everyone feel the need to kiss and hug her? There was no more efficient method of spreading those communal germs then if she had licked a washroom door handle.

"She's a natural, ain't she, Doc? Just look at her now with those tots."

Bert Large, in all his grotesquely overweight and buffoon glory, stuffed himself into the chair beside Martin. Martin thought to himself that Bert looked like a circus clown without his makeup. Fantastic. Could this night get any worse?

"Bert." Martin nodded ungraciously. Probably here to touch him up for a loan.

Bert tipped his head in Louisa's direction, jowls shaking prodigiously. "Louisa, she's a natural with kids, always has been. Shame she's never had any of her own."

"Excuse me. I don't think that is any of your business." Martin bristled.

"Got to disagree with you there, Doc. I've known Louisa all her life, been like a father to her. She loves kids. Always wanted to be a mother, since she was a little girl. Last year she confided in me that she wants lots of them, just waiting for the right man. Looks like that's you, eh?" Bert gave him a knowing glance, leaving Martin repulsed.

Martin pursed his lips and frowned, fingers starting to drum staccato on the table top.

"Lots of them. Just repeating what she said," Bert added with emphasis to push home the point.

"At Miss Glasson's geriatric age for childbearing, it is medically unlikely that she would be able to bear more than one. Her best chance, which is now behind her, for having a brood, was before the age of thirty five. After forty, which she is nearing, her risk of giving birth to an offspring with physical abnormalities or mental retardation dramatically increases while her fertility decreases significantly."

Bert sniffed and ignored the coldly clinical lecture, feeling offended on Louisa's behalf. "But you would be open to having one or two little tykes? For her sake?"

"Shut up, Bert and go away. Surely there are some high cholesterol, calorie laden, sugary desserts left rotting at the buffet table for you to consume?"

Bert had been considering asking Martin to take a look at his arthritic knee. Given the dark and thunderous expression on Martin's face, he thought better of it. Instead he silently waddled away to take another shift at the cash bar, hoping to drum up business for his restaurant's New Year's Day brunch.

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Martin had thought this night could not sink him any further into gloom but it most certainly had. He had never wanted to attend this silly dinner dance in the first place. Why couldn't people simply mail in a generous cheque as he had done? Fundraising did not require a frivolous party. There really was no point in wasting everybody's time, energy and resources by having such an event. He wished he was in Liverpool. He wished he was in London. He wished he was anywhere but here at this table, in Port Wenn, in Cornwall. He was severely disquieted by the series of realizations he had experienced in the past hour. Every synapse and neuron in his brain was wired for avoidance and flight. He could feel the power of his defense mechanisms revving up, arming him with the familiar litany of excuses, prevarications and repudiations.

Methodically and systematically like the good researcher he was, he reviewed the evidence. The central question to be answered was laid out before him: was Louisa happier these last few days than she had been these last few months? He was a master diagnostician of medical maladies but he was barely passable as a student of human behaviour. Nonetheless even he could easily diagnose what was so blatantly apparent: Louisa was enjoying herself immensely tonight, supremely blissful.

At first he told himself that they really hadn't spent enough time together in the last six months for him to make an accurate or objective assessment. There simply wasn't enough data to form a logical conclusion regarding the central hypothesis. After all, how much could one truly discern from two, or on occasion three, weekends per month? They should be spending more time together, living together in fact, instead of being polite weekend guests at each other's flats. Something broke through his seawall of denial to chastise him for that too. Quite possibly he hadn't paid enough attention to truly notice her behaviour. Not all his fault, his defence mechanisms were quick to reassure him; resurrecting a career took a monumental amount of focused time and energy.

Yes, but there had been legitimate hints and signs he had chosen to overlook and ignore along the way: her grumblings about the staff politics at Tarlington Hall and the never satisfied, arrogant parents; her dislike of the crowds, anonymity and pollution of London; her desire to spend her scarce free time taking long walks by the boardwalk in Liverpool, the Thames in London and the city parks – poor facsimiles indeed for the cliff walk towards Port Gaverne and the other Cornish coastal paths.

But she had made new friends, hadn't she? Louisa surely never had any trouble doing that. Not many, apparently. Certainly she hadn't thought much of the two obnoxious surgeons' wives who had introduced themselves at the Royal Liverpool Christmas Party. Come to think of it, she never mentioned spending any after-school time with her fellow teachers. He knew she got on well with the other tenants in the house where she now rented. However she had only been there for two months and had been away most weekends visiting him. Whenever he asked her what she did for social outings in London, she described solo visits to art galleries or local concerts or long telephone conversations with old friends like Lindsay Goldman and Caroline Bosman.

Totaling up the sum of this data and evidence, Martin faced the obvious conclusion and frowned. Watching her now amidst the fertile gaggle of new mothers and surrounded by old, dear friends, the truth was plain enough even for him to acknowledge. Crystal clear and unvarnished. Facts do not lie however much one might want them to.

And what about this surprise revelation from Stu McKenzie? Louisa had always grumbled about the problems at Port Wenn Primary. That in itself was nothing unusual, parried his defence mechanisms. But his conscience whispered pointedly: in Port Wenn those grumblings had largely concerned the mounds of bureaucratic red tape and continuous government funding cutbacks. Martin had thought Louisa was pleased to be a senior teacher at one of London's elite girls' schools. To him, it seemed a far better use of her superior skills than to be Headmistress at an underfunded state school teaching dim witted, undisciplined children. Apparently not.

He could not escape the fact that Louisa would have liked to apply for the vacant position last Autumn Half Term break, had it not been for him and his move to Liverpool. He knew that she had stayed in London to be closer to him, to demonstrate her commitment to their relationship, to continue the work towards their mutual goal of a shared and permanent future. Given all that had happened to him since starting the surgeon's position, he too now understood how difficult it would have been to maintain the relationship considering the geographic strain and physical distance. Commuting from Port Wenn to Liverpool and back again was laborious and could not have been a consistent weekend journey. Despite their best efforts, amidst challenging careers and hectic schedules, the likelihood was that their newly minted relationship would not have survived the last few months.

Bert's observations and pointed commentary had only further depressed him. Buffoon and weak fool Bert may be but he and Louisa had always been close and Martin knew there was great truth in what had been said. He had witnessed that for himself; Louisa wanted a family of her own.

Martin had very deftly dodged, deflected or avoided nearly every conversation that Louisa had tried to start with him regarding having children. Of course Louisa would make a lovely mother. He had only to watch her now, cradling that moronic baby, to see that. Not that he required any further proof. But she would not make a lovely mother to his children because he was hell-bent on not having any. He had hoped that having him in her life would have been enough to make her let go of that biological urge, to deafen her to the ticking down of her procreative clock. She could have no illusions that he felt differently; nothing had changed in that regard.

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Somehow, from August through December, he had managed to paint himself a picture of a happy life with Louisa, built on a hopeful foundation of what-ifs. What if they could live together in a large impersonal city away from gossiping neighbours and inquisitive friends? Then they could have some privacy. What if he could go back to doing what he loved? Then he would make her proud and he would feel he was doing what he really was good at and was genuinely interested in. What if his income was higher than in Port Wenn? Then they could buy a large home in an upscale Liverpool neighbourhood or an elegant, centrally located townhouse in London. No more "living above the store" like in Port Wenn. What if Louisa wanted to work? Well then why shouldn't she? He had been wrong about that. Louisa was an intelligent, fiercely independent woman. There were heaps of varied opportunities in London that surely would fulfill her. If they could do all of this then Louisa would be happy, wouldn't she? Wouldn't all of that suffice?

Martin clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them, focusing with surgeon's concentration for several minutes on nothing but the problems this evening had sprung upon him. He could not help engaging in one more powerful what if: what if he had not come to Port Wenn for the Christmas holidays? Then he would never have to admit to what he had seen and heard tonight.

Part Six continues next weekend …


	67. Chapter 67

Chapter Sixty Seven

"You're certainly wrapped up in your own thoughts. A penny for them?"

Martin did not flinch when he felt the familiar press of a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see a beaming Louisa smiling down upon him. Not for a million pennies would he have dared share his thoughts with her on this evening. He shook his head, would not face her, choosing instead to stare awkwardly at the floor.

He felt a tension headache coming on. Whether its origins were the ceaseless pounding emanating from another poor rendition by the band or because of what he had just realized, he could not be certain and for once did not care to analyze the ailment. What he did know for certain was that he did not want to return to Port Wenn, either as a resident nor as its family physician.

"Right. Well, good news. I have finally finished the last of my duties for the Fundraiser. It has been a brilliant evening, hasn't it?" She flushed with excited satisfaction as she surveyed a room chock full of happy people.

"Bloody."

Louisa, perceiving everything through her own exultant eyes, misinterpreted his comment. "Oh? So you did enjoy yourself a little then? I thought you did, at least at dinner. Alex seems nice, doesn't he? I'm sorry that I didn't have much time to spend with you otherwise. I really had to crack on. Along with refereeing the fights in the kitchen between the WI ladies and the parish auxiliary crew, working at the raffle table took longer than I expected. I barely had time to breathe." She looked as if all that exertion hadn't tired her in the least.

"It's fine. I understand." For once he actually did, all too clearly. "You had a good evening then?"

"Brilliant." There it was again: that blushing radiance, the sparkle in her eyes, that irrepressible grin which lit up her gorgeous face, one high heeled foot tapping to the music. Would it really be right to drain and deprive her of all that?

"That's good," he said, feeling quite miserable, trying to hide it despite the fact that his worst fears had just been confirmed by Louisa herself.

She saw his face drop and misread the expression as fatigue tinged with boredom. "You have been awfully good to stick it out this long. Thank you for not bolting straight after dinner. I half expected you would. I should imagine that you've been bombarded with medical complaints and this music is certainly not to your taste." She smiled down at him sympathetically, appreciative of his patience. She lightly rubbed his shoulder and spoke softly, not hiding the tremor in her voice. "It means a great deal to me, to have you here, sharing all of this with me."

He nodded his head in tacit agreement, feeling melancholy seep through his veins. All of this made her happy.

"Let's go," she said, liking him immensely, unable to resist mischievously running her hand through his hair, in spite of their being in public. "Back to our hotel."

"But it's only nine-forty-five. This thing won't shut down before midnight." He glanced woefully around towards the full dance floor, the long line at the cash bar and the tables full of chattering Port Wenn residents. For a moment he bleakly watched her wistfully watching them. "Why don't I take the car and go back to the hotel by myself? There must be someone here who can drive you back later?"

"Thank you for that. Mrs. Padmore lives in Trelights. I'm sure she wouldn't mind dropping me off at the hotel. She's still helping with the washing up in the kitchen." Louisa bit her lip. "But just the same, I think I'd rather leave with you now."

"Louisa, you are obviously enjoying yourself. Why not stay?" He wanted to prolong her evident happiness, something he no longer felt himself capable of doing.

The ponytail swished vigorously from side to side. "It's been a wonderful evening, Martin but I want to be alone with you. We've barely had any moments to ourselves since you arrived here. This Fundraiser has taken up most of my time and energy, more than I anticipated. There are only three more days before we have to drive back to London and the following day you have to depart for Liverpool."

She grimaced at the thought then smiled down at him. "Yes, I've had a wonderful time tonight. It's made me very happy seeing everyone, being part of it all again. But you make me very happy too, just by being here. I want to show you that. So let's get our coats, go back to the hotel and spend the rest of the night enjoying each other. Unless you don't want to?" She was having trouble reading his expression, unable to fathom his reticence.

"Of course I want to," he answered emphatically, allowing himself the most fleeting touch of her waist as reassurance. He did want to spend the rest of the night alone with her, savouring her in his arms. After that, he wanted them both to bolt away from this village as fast and as far as they could. An irrational and heightened response, perhaps, but his flight defence mechanism was in full command.

For five months he had pressed on, holding resolutely to his plans, ploughing through the numerous obstacles and the scourge of his haemophobia to achieve a substantial measure of success both professionally and personally. But he had wilfully blinded himself to the fact that Louisa was discontented, not with him but with the direction their lives were taking. Seeing her so happy tonight, so much happier than she had been since she left Port Wenn in August was unmistakable. He now had incontrovertible proof of that. The facts practically shouted at him and he, as a man of science, could no longer deny them.

He flinched. Louisa did not feel or see it, preoccupied as she was with watching the dance floor. It was more of a tremor that emanated from deep within him and travelled to the surface. Under enormous stress or anxiety it is not uncommon for the human brain to imagine only the most negative of scenarios. Martin's brain was currently in overdrive, reeling from all that this night had presented to him. He could only imagine the absolute, the worst nightmare for his situation. Consequently his whirring brain conjured up a vividly disturbing what-if scenario.

He caught a glimpse of what his future with Louisa might be and was dismayed: sucked back into living in this biscuit tin village with its prying eyes and ears always open for the reverberation of gossip; thrust again into the thankless, professionally isolating and intellectually unstimulating role as general practitioner; his newly reactivated skills as vascular surgical consultant gone to waste, not a hope of snagging a position in London much less his fallback options of the west country to placate Louisa, if needed, under duress - Plymouth, Exeter or Taunton; living above the shop; possibly as geriatric father to two screaming children under the age of three.

The destination towards which he was navigating their ship was not going to make Louisa happy, even if it did him. Perhaps she would not mind right away but soon and inevitably, in the years to come. Not making her happy- wasn't that why she had not married him in the first place? And here he was again, not making her happy. But could he truly be happy living the life she wanted?

These matters had been ignored for long enough. They could not be allowed to go on.

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Author's note: This chapter concludes Part Six. Part Seven begins this Spring where decisions that have been put off, must now be dealt with and painfully decided. Thank you, as always to those loyal readers and kind reviewers who encourage this story to continue. Without you, it probably would not be committed to paper.


	68. Chapter 68

Chapter Sixty Eight

New Year's Resolutions. In some countries around the world it is the custom before the New Year begins, to select and commit to a resolution of some sort. Many of us live in cultures where continuous self-improvement is considered a virtue, if not a societal pressure. The choice of resolutions is broad and seemingly endless: lose weight; exercise daily; spend more time with friends and family; save the environment; be kinder. Sadly, most of us commence with the best of intentions, the firmest of resolve and the sincerest of convictions. For the majority, after three or four weeks our resolve begins to falter and weaken: the gym is too far; the deadlines at work curtail social engagements; kindness and environmental conservation will both assuredly have our full attention once again when life becomes less stressful.

Martin Ellingham thought all New Year's resolutions were a load of tosh. In his years as a general practitioner, how many patients had he witnessed promising to shed pounds, abstain from smoking and alcohol? Oh yes, when they first received the disastrous results of cholesterol or fasting sugar tests then they were full of remorse, resolution and determination. A dangerously high blood pressure reading fanatically converted them to a lifestyle shorn of fats and sugar- for approximately a month. Then it became too onerous to maintain the hard slog. It was easier instead to take a pill and pray that did the trick.

Louisa Glasson had made numerous New Year's resolutions over her lifetime. Some she kept, most she forgot, of a few she despaired. Regardless, at the beginning of every year she always resolved to be a better person. The vagueness of this wording granted her substantial leeway regarding in what manner to achieve this goal. This New Year's Eve however, she was at a loss about what to do. Much of what she thought she wanted from the next year was pitted against what she felt it her duty to do. These objectives were in conflict, nearly diametrically opposed. How then could she possibly craft any sort of tangible or realistic resolution out of that?

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"For someone about to ring in a joyous New Year, you don't look very excited."

Louisa placed her hand apologetically on Lindsay's shoulder. "I'm so sorry." She flashed a weak grin. "It's just …. there's so much weighing me down these last few days … that I can't seem to muster the usual enthusiasm heralding the New Year."

"More apprehension than appreciation?"

"Yea. You got it. Exactly." Louisa glanced briefly at the floor as if the answers lay in some invisible pile at her feet. "Sorry," she said again. "And after all the trouble you went through to make this lovely dinner party for the four of us, it's inconsiderate of me to be so self-absorbed and preoccupied. I'm not being a very polite guest, am I?"

"Nonsense. And it's not a dinner party, just us two couples. If you can't be yourself in front of your friends then when can you be? Besides, I don't think either Martin or Alex noticed. I'm trained to observe changes in human behaviour, remember?" Lindsay rolled her eyes. "I'd be a pretty poor child psychologist if I didn't."

Both she and Louisa exchanged smiles. Lindsay's penchant for gentle self-deprecation had once again broken the tension. They continued the washing up as the dessert coffee began brewing in its machine.

Lindsay knew it didn't take a professional psychologist to spot that Louisa was deeply troubled. "But seriously, what's happened in the past three days since I last saw you to dampen those soaring spirits of yours? I mean, three nights ago, at the Lifeboat Society Fundraiser, you were in top form: energetic and enthusiastic. Alex and I were only in Truro for two days. Now I come back to found you downcast and tense."

Louisa put down the dish towel. "Just a minute." She walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to Lindsay's home office where Martin and Alex sat together pouring over Lindsay's computer screen. Louisa poked her head tentatively around the open door.

"Everything alright in here?"

Alex looked up at her with his boyish smile. "Brilliant. Martin's just been showing me the online catalogue for the antique clock auction in February at Sotheby's. You should see the array of beauties headed for the auction block. Absolutely spectacular."

Martin, absorbed in the contents of the computer screen, glanced up to tacitly nod his agreement.

"Good. Coffee will be ready in about fifteen minutes. That okay?"

"Fine with us. More time to study these gems, eh Martin?"

For once, Martin didn't point at his watch, the silent signal he and Louisa had created to indicate that he was having a miserable time and was itching to leave. Louisa grinned and slipped back into the kitchen.

"I'm going to have to send Alex a case of champagne after the holidays."

Lindsay didn't take her eyes off the melon she was carefully slicing into small cubes. "I'm sure he would love such a generous gesture. What has he done to earn your extravagance?"

"For being one of the few non-medical people I've seen who is able to keep Martin's interest and approval for more than a ten minute stretch. I actually think that Martin is enjoying himself tonight."

"Yes, Alex is very good at that," Lindsay said proudly. "He is a natural conversationalist with the ability to suss out what someone is interested in and persuade them to discuss it. It's his way of putting them at their ease. It comes in handy when you are a family law solicitor, particularly in nasty custody and access disputes."

"Yea. It's definitely working on Martin. Does Alex really have an interest in clocks or is that all show for Martin's benefit?"

"Clocks? No. Not really. I told Alex about Martin's hobby. But antiques in general? Yes. He and my aunt got on like a house on fire when I brought him to London to meet her. I still think that Martin would like her."

"I'm grateful to you and Alex for finding a way to induce Martin to enjoy himself. It has meant that we all could relax and have fun this evening. I'll have to address that case of champagne to the both of you."

"But you are not having much fun yourself this evening, are you?"

Louisa bit her lip. The ponytail swished uncertainly. Why dampen Lindsay's holiday mood? She wasn't going to discuss it unless Lindsay really wanted to.

"Louisa, just let me finish cutting the pineapple rings, hopefully without slicing through an artery and thus requiring the services of our talented Mr. Ellingham. Once I'm done, we'll have a good old chat, okay?"

Giving a relieved nod, Louisa spent the next few minutes occupying herself with drying the last of the dinner dishes. What would she do without Lindsay? It was so good to be home.

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Lindsay surveyed the dessert tray with satisfaction. "A job well done, if I do say so myself. "Pineapple, melon, almonds, and strawberries: low in cholesterol, saturated fats, sodium and calories. Nothing here for the esteemed surgeon to protest about and lots to enjoy." She wiped her plump hands on a dish towel and leaned against the kitchen counter, intently surveying her friend. "Now, come on. Spill."

"Are you sure? I don't want to weigh down your New Year with my whingeing."

"There are still four hours and twelve minutes until midnight. Plenty of time for whingeing followed by celebrating. Sure you and Martin won't accompany us to the Crab and Lobster to ring in the New Year?"

"And you call yourself a student of human behaviour!" Louisa teased. "Raucous laughter and boisterous singing. Alcohol, crisps, peanuts. Pounding music. A live band. Too many noisy revellers squashed into one large room. Why wouldn't Martin love it?" She and Lindsay laughed.

As the humour dissipated, the tortured look once more clouded Louisa's face. "Honestly, I'm more than happy to spend the final two hours of this year alone with Martin in our hotel suite. Between my preparing for the Lifeboat Society Fundraiser, my packed social calendar and Martin spending time with Joan, we have hardly seen each other this week." She exhaled heavily. "It all ends tomorrow with our return to London. Time to crack on with real life again. I guess."

"And I'm sensing that you're not too happy about that."

Louisa shook her head. "If I had my way, I'd never go back to London."

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This story continues …


	69. Chapter 69

Chapter Sixty Nine

Louisa's statement was emphatic, delivered with an ominous drama that was uncharacteristic of her. Lindsay cocked an inquiring eyebrow.

In response Louisa threw up her hands in reassurance. "It's okay. Don't worry, I haven't lost my mind. I realize that I have an employment contract with Tarlington Hall until the end of June. The Headmistress was very good to hire me last December, despite significant internal dissent. I wouldn't dream of disappointing her by abandoning my post. I also am aware that I hold a tenant's lease on a wonderful flat. Lastly and most importantly, I made a promise … a commitment … to Martin to stay in London until July."

Lindsay resisted the urge to grimace. She had been expecting this all week. Things were bound to come to a head sometime. There is only so long that you can avoid what is so blatantly staring you in the face. "But if you didn't have those legal and social obligations, you'd leave London in a heartbeat? Is that what you mean?"

Louisa nodded and chewed her lip, hesitating to meet full on Lindsay's concerned expression.

"And go where, Louisa?"

She answered ever so quietly, looking away, "Back here."

"Right." Lindsay pondered on this reluctant admission for a moment. Her fingers tapped lightly on the granite counter while she considered her answer. "That's no secret. It's been your hope and dream since last Spring. What's brought on this sudden urge to abandon everything?"

"I won't abandon London or Martin," Louisa said defensively, her hackles up. She bristled at the implication. "I've been abandoned enough in my lifetime to know how unfair that is."

"Of course you do. I didn't express myself well, too clumsy. What I meant to say is, what has made that particular urge so strong right now?"

"It's about being back here after another six long months in the great metropolis. Seeing my old friends; the quiet and community of village life. It all came flooding back to me the night of the Fundraiser. I feel fulfilled here. I so wish Martin felt the same way." She shook her head, knowing , beyond doubt, that he did not.

Lindsay diplomatically chose to avoid that last sentence. There was no point beating that subject to death. "I suppose that your lunch with Stuart Mackenzie contributed to this flood of feelings?"

Louisa nodded once more. She crossed her arms, hugging herself protectively, trying to stave off the enthusiasm bubbling up inside of her. Nonetheless she failed to restrain herself. "Lindsay, you're not going to believe it. The school wants me back! The Headmaster's planning to leave in June." A moment of doubt shrouded her face." I'd have to pass the interview of course … and not quite everyone is fully convinced that I deserve another chance."

"Really? I was always under the impression that the Governors were very impressed with your work. That's what I have heard from Stuart and your staff."

"Yea. But one or two weren't pleased when I left them in the lurch last December. They had to scramble to find a viable candidate at short notice. Not an easy thing to attract someone to a small, isolated village in mid-year. The Board wants a three year commitment from the next Head. It's a non-negotiable term of the employment."

"If you have to agree to that, and Martin refuses to return with you, can you keep the relationship going long-distance on a permanent basis?" Here was the crux of the matter. Lindsay was pretty certain that she knew the answer. Better to ask the question regardless.

"I doubt it. Anyway, I don't intend to take the position for a year then zip off again to London. I felt guilty enough doing it the first time. Besides, what the Board is proposing is quite reasonable, under the circumstances, when you consider their other concern."

"What's that?"

"With all the recent cuts to the national education budget, the District Council is on the lookout for any and all economies it can muster. That includes closing schools."

"But Port Wenn Primary's enrolment is full! It could barely manage to take another student as it is. Why consider shutting it down?"

"It's not on the chopping list now but the Board wants to ensure that it gives the District Council no reason to put it there. There's that bright, shiny new elementary school in Wadebridge that is half full, only a few miles away. Remember? It was built before the recession, when Wadebridge was still thriving and needed another school."

"I know. It's still on my roster along with the others. Last time I visited it was still half empty. Shame."

"After the recession a large number of families left to find jobs in the bigger centres and cities. That's why this new school never achieved full capacity. Our Board wants Port Wenn Primary to continue to stand as a beacon for our village and the surrounding rural community. We need to show stability, continue to improve our test scores in maths and science as we have been doing and we must increasingly demonstrate strong leadership in administration and teaching."

"You said 'we'. 'We need to show stability'."

"Did I? I didn't notice."

"Have you already made up your mind then?"

"No, of course not. It's just that …" Her voice trailed off. Admitting it out loud to another person would make it real, no longer avoidable.

It is hard to deny what the heart wants, especially when it speaks it so clearly. Lindsay finished the sentence for her. "It's just that you can picture it all. Visualize yourself working and living here again. But?"

"But … Martin. He's doing so well at the Royal Liverpool. His haemophobia has almost completely disappeared; just the odd and occasional minor symptom. Next month he's going to actually lead a surgical team; small procedures at first. If that goes well, they'll let him start to assist on the big repairs like aneurisms and car accidents injuries. He's giving a national webinar in February, part of a series out of Imperial. He's thriving, Lindsay. They appreciate his skills and his intellect and somehow manage to tolerate his personality at the same time."

This enthusiastic speech seemed to deflate her energy because she understood its implications. She clasped her hands together so tightly that the knuckles turned white. She looked imploringly at her friend. "How can I ask him to give up all that for me? If he has to make a three year commitment to live here that will categorically shut all those posh hospital doors in London. It isn't as if Martin was just average at his job either. He was chief of a vascular department before and apparently he could be again. He's bloody brilliant. Should I force him to sacrifice all of that for me?"

Lindsay thought to herself: it's a mirror image. Wouldn't it also be wrong for Louisa to sacrifice so much of what she was passionate about for Martin? "So what will you do?"

Louisa wiped away the lone tear that had begun travelling down her cheek. She put a hand to her forehead. Miserably she looked her confidante directly in the eye. "I honestly don't know."

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This story continues next week …


	70. Chapter 70

Chapter Seventy

The clock in the hallway turned nine. Alex and Louisa switched on the telly in the living room to watch the beginning of the New Year's Eve pop concert on ITV. Lindsay started to clear away the coffee cups, dessert platter and plates. Martin wanted to help her, partly out of politeness, partly because he detested the music now banging away on the telly and partly because he wanted an excuse to follow her into the kitchen. Carrying as many dishes as he could handle, he joined her in the kitchen. As he placed the dishes on the counter, he heard Alex and Louisa joyfully and tunefully singing along with the band's lead singer. They would not miss him nor could they overhear what he wanted to discuss with Lindsay.

"Thanks, Martin. It won't take a minute for me to do the washing up. Then we can all be off to ring in the New Year at our preferred locations."

"Allow me to help you … um … Lindsay." That last word still stuck in his throat, not quite comfortable with it yet. However he had succumbed to Louisa's prevailing logic. He could hardly continue to address Lindsay as Dr. Goldman: she was no longer his patient nor was she his multidisciplinary professional colleague in Port Wenn. She was, in actuality, one of Louisa's closest friends and that now brought him into contact with her on an exclusively social basis.

He had not seen her since his exit from Port Wenn last September. However from what he had known of her during his employment there and while spending time with her over this holiday week, he had decided that on a personal level, much as was her professional persona, she was level-headed, intelligent, pragmatic and not given to drama, hyperbole or hysteria. She was however, like Louisa, overly fond of humour, excessively emotional and in constant need of discussing her own feelings and those of anyone within a twenty foot radius. Still, he felt his respect for her growing and considered her a perceptive judge of people. He had not forgotten that it was Lindsay who had encouraged him to write to Louisa last March when reconciliation seemed a distant possibility. She had also proven a loyal and wise friend to Louisa which is exactly why she was now the logical person to help him.

"So … um… how do you think Louisa is adjusting to living in London?" He did not look at her, instead apparently giving his full concentration to the mundane task of clearing the detritus of dessert from plate to bin.

It seemed an odd question, even for Martin. Lindsay did not quite know what to make of it or how to answer. "Uh … she's lived there for a year therefore … uh … I would hazard a guess that she's pretty adept at knowing her way around."

She sensed Martin's frustration as he tried to properly reformulate his question. She could only wait to see what next issued from his mouth.

"Is it your opinion that she is taking advantage of all the culture and so forth?" He scraped another plate with more force than was required. This type of discussion made him ill at ease and he dreaded what Lindsay might say.

"She goes to the occasional art gallery, I guess, or local concert. Mostly her weekends and holidays are taken up with travelling to Liverpool or Port Wenn." Lindsay resisted the urge to gawk at him. Where was this conversation heading? Martin wasn't given to small talk therefore there must be some other purpose. Considering how uncomfortable he seemed, it clearly was something of seismic magnitude. Wisely she decided to let it all unfold in his own time. She immersed her hands once again in the soapy water in an effort at contrived nonchalance.

"London is one of the greatest cities in the world. Would you say that Louisa is enjoying living there?"

"Enjoying it? I don't think she has much spare time to visit the tourist sites nor the funds to buy clothes at Harrods and have afternoon tea at the Savoy. Sorry; that's my meagre attempt at humour. That's not what you're asking, is it? I'm not clear what you mean. Do you think that you could give it another try?"

"Is she … pleased to be there?" Martin ever so casually risked a glance her way, apprehensive about her answer.

A lightbulb switched on in Lindsay's brain. Aha. Martin wanted to know whether Louisa was happy. Good for him! He must have sensed Louisa's upswings and downswings in mood this holiday week. Lindsay turned off the tap. Sod the dirty dishes; they could wait until next year. This was much more important.

"Pleased to be in London? I think she is pleased to have an interesting and well-paid job where she can continue to hone her professional skills. Tarlington Hall is quite an eye-opener after running a state funded school in a fishing village.

Martin nervously fiddled with his perfectly adjusted tie, picked up the dish towel and began drying the dishes in the rack. "Yes … but apart from work?"

"Is she pleased to be in London? No. I wouldn't say that. Grateful, more like."

He looked perplexed. The expression on his face indicated that he was labouring hard to comprehend. "Grateful?"

"Yes. London was meant to be a refuge for Louisa when she exited Port Wenn last December."

"A refuge?" Talking to women baffled him. He couldn't discern what she was attempting to impart. What reason would Louisa have to seek refuge?

Lindsay observed the scowl forming on his face and the furrowed forehead. Better leave no room for ambiguity; give it to him straight up and unfiltered. "To be perfectly honest, Martin, London was her refuge from you."

"Me?" He wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. He was tempted to, quite literally, throw in the towel.

Lindsay felt she had no choice but to spell it all out for him. "From you. Yes. From the guilt, shock and pain of your aborted wedding."

Martin hung his head and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. This he understood; with this he could empathize. He had experienced similar symptoms himself. "Ah. I see."

She felt a surge of compassion for him. He seemed hard hit by this piece of information. Clearly he was not the man he had been twelve months ago. Then he would have bit off her head in his typical overbearing fashion, angrily denied her assertion and condescendingly informed her that she was overreacting. Not to mention that he would never have been standing in her kitchen, discussing emotions, after dinner on a New Year's Eve.

Lindsay continued, "It was mutual though, wasn't it? I mean, Louisa also broke off the engagement, didn't she? She was running from herself just as much as she was running from you. And also running from the gossip, the stares and the pitying looks of her fellow villagers. She felt that she couldn't endure any of it. She thought she should make another, a completely different life, for herself elsewhere. The only problem was that she had unresolved feelings for you. She could not move forward with her life until she finally confronted the past and you."

Martin snorted. "Psychobabble. Nonetheless I do comprehend your point." He had been forced to do the same thing, much as he had resisted it in the beginning.

"That point is that she has been able to successfully move forward with her life. You have helped her greatly with that. Been very instrumental, in fact." Lindsay fiddled with a dirty coffee cup, fully understanding what he was asking. "But back to your original question. Is she pleased to be in London? Is she sufficiently happy that she wants to reside there on a permanent basis?"

Lindsay slowly drew in a deep breath, steadying herself before she took the plunge and told Martin the plain truth.

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This story continues tomorrow (Sunday) …


	71. Chapter 71

Chapter Seventy One

"Is Louisa happy in London?" Lindsay repeated the question again, endeavouring to be more precise with her answer. "No. Not really. I mean it suits her purpose for the present; being near you and spending the time working out the future. But in the long term? No. She wants to come back home, to recommence her career at Port Wenn Primary, to settle here permanently – with you."

"Oh." His suspicions were confirmed then. The evidence he had been collecting these last few days was incontrovertible. He grimaced and stared at the bleak winter evening looming outside the window. Some people might find this night a cause for celebration; he certainly couldn't.

Lindsay watched him, trying to figure out how best to explain what Louisa was feeling. "Maybe this will help. It's sort of like she's treading water."

Martin turned to stare at her. He was downcast and shaken out of his momentary contemplation. He scowled. "She's what?"

Using that analogy to illustrate her point had obviously been lost on him. She utilized analogies and metaphors often enough in her sessions with patients; most patients usually grasped the meaning straightaway. "You know … thrashing about, paddling madly but stuck in one place. Not going anywhere; trying to keep her head above water."

"Swimming? Thrashing about? Not moving? What on earth is she waiting for?"

"You."

Martin put a hand to his cheek, resting the elbow on his suit lapel. He was having a conversation in his head with himself and he didn't much like what he was hearing but he wanted to persevere and continue the dialogue with Lindsay nonetheless.

"Me?" Is this how Louisa felt about the relationship? Why hadn't he noticed it before?

"Yes. For you to make up your mind about the compromises, about the collective future of your relationship: where you will both make your home together, what type of careers you are to have, whether or not to have children."

"Oh. I see. Right." The perpetual problem that seemed never to get resolved between Louisa and him. From what he had learned in the past three days, they were further apart than ever.

Lindsay's brain was running in circles. Did Martin really understand what she was trying to describe to him? This might be her only opportunity to make things crystal clear for him. Should she convey to him the flavour of what Louisa had confided in her less than an hour ago? Martin had freely solicited her opinion. Should she tell him the truth? Should she plunge in and hope for the best? Perhaps she shouldn't say anything more. Was it really her place or business to do so?

On the other hand, within the next few months Martin and Louisa would not be able to procrastinate any longer; they would have to start making decisions that could no longer be avoided. Employment contracts, leases on flats, job interviews, biological clocks: life was going to demand it of them whether they liked it or not. Much as their ability to communicate with one another had vastly improved over this year, they were no different from most couples when it came to having a difficult discussion about a painful subject; they avoided it like the plague.

This couple – how they pushed each other away then reeled one another back in again. It was as if they were bound by an invisible tether. You could not help rooting for them though. They were so in earnest to get their relationship right even when, at times, it seemed against their better judgement to do so.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more encouraging. I doubt this is what you were hoping to hear." She was struck by the miserable look on his face.

"Yes. Thank you for telling me."

"Listen. If you want my honest assessment – "

"I do. Go ahead." He held his breath, anticipating another blow, wanting to hear her opinion anyway.

"I think that Louisa would give up most of what she wants in life if the alternative meant losing you completely. I believe that she would sacrifice a great deal of what she yearns for if it meant making you completely happy. She would place her own happiness a distant second. And that would come at a great price, eventually, for you both. Ultimately it would corrode your relationship; perhaps end in divorce. Certainly it would make Louisa unhappy."

She fiddled with a coffee spoon before continuing. "Asking too many sacrifices from your partner can do that. A good partnership should involve making compromises when necessary, not gut wrenching sacrifices. If you drain someone of most of their dreams and aspirations, of what they fundamentally want in life, you cannot expect them to become anything less than miserable, despondent and quite possibly resentful."

Lindsay stopped; she felt she had said more than enough. While she was wondering what else she could say to soften the blow, the machinery of Martin's defense mechanisms grinded into high gear. Perhaps Lindsay was lying; maybe she had an ulterior motive for saying what she did. As soon as that thought registered in his brain Martin knew it was utter rubbish. Perhaps Lindsay was overexaggerating. Weren't all women like that? She and Louisa both had a flair for the dramatic. But no, answered the still, small voice inside of him again. He had asked Lindsay's honest opinion, practically dragged it out of her and it was obvious that it had pained her to tell him.

Besides, deep down he knew what she said was accurate. Stuart Mackenzie, Bert Large and others had all indicated to him, over the past few days, what it was that Louisa wanted. Even Aunt Joan had tried to warn him that Louisa wouldn't be content with the life that Martin was planning. As if that weren't enough, his own eyes and ears had confirmed it the night of the Lifeboat Society Fundraiser.

What now seemed abundantly clear to Martin was that the path he was taking would make Louisa wretched. That was something he could not bear. He had always thought that he could not live without her; overriding that long held belief now was the palpable and painful realization that living with him would make her desperately unhappy. There seemed little choice: he would have to end things between them, for her sake as much as his.

Before Martin could respond aloud to Lindsay, they heard the telly being switched off and their respective partners belting out a pop song as they raucously entered the kitchen to spread their festive cheer as the minutes to the New Year quickly ticked down.

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This story continues next weekend …


	72. Chapter 72

Chapter Seventy Two

As the wheels clacked and shook beneath her train car, Louisa wondered whether she should have travelled to Liverpool on this dreary mid-January weekend. Had it not been for her promise to have lunch at the "Club" with Trudy and Lisa, she doubted she would have bothered. But Martin was only one-third through his year-long contract and it would be impolitic to ruffle the feathers of his departmental colleagues or their spouses. No matter how little Martin cared about such trivialities, Louisa did, if only for the sake of his career.

She was tired and out of sorts, having just gotten over a nasty post-holiday cold. Worse still, the atmosphere between her and Martin had been tense and strained ever since New Year's Eve. They had rung in the New Year by making love in their hotel suite. Not 'making love' exactly; more like restrained physical relations, mechanical, devoid of the usual satiating pleasure.

They had left Port Wenn late morning on New Year's Day after going to the farm to say goodbye to Joan. The roads were slippery and it was sleeting; neither wanted to have a verbal confrontation while trapped in a car, experiencing poor driving conditions, for six long hours. Martin left London early the next day for Liverpool. After that they were both caught up in the daily churning of their respective career schedules; using that as an excuse to ignore the personal issues that were inwardly distressing them both.

There had developed a distance between them, widened largely by secrets, doubts and disquieting epiphanies. It was a chasm that neither knew quite how to bridge. They felt uncomfortably untethered from one another, could not fathom how to broach the subject that was eroding their unity.

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Shortly after she arrived at Martin's flat on Friday evening, he had called to apologize because he would be late coming home from the hospital. A motorcycle crash victim had just been brought in, bleeding from a severed artery in the leg. Martin had been asked to assist in surgery. It would be good experience for him and would prevent having to call back the junior consultant who had just left for a family birthday party in Yorkshire. Louisa didn't mind. She would rather be left alone to soak in Martin's large marble bathtub, partake of a light meal and watch telly until she fell asleep. She wasn't looking forward to tomorrow's lunch. A relaxing evening of solitude was exactly what she craved.

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Louisa awoke the next morning feeling revived and refreshed after ten hours of unbroken sleep. She sensed the weight of Martin's large hand resting peacefully on her hip. She inched closer to him, tenderly pressing her back into his broad chest and curved stomach. Gently taking his hand in hers, she wrapped his arm around her waist, luxuriating in the security and the soothing masculine quality of his presence. She listened intently to the evenness of his breathing and the small, habitual adjustments his body made as it instinctively attuned itself to her proximity.

She exhaled with sheer contentment. Oh, if they could only stay like this, always. How she loved him. How long had it taken for them to reach this happy place, to make their peace as a couple? Then, as frequently happened lately, she recollected the recent events of December; this momentary physical closeness masked the inner turmoil that was never far from the surface these days. Yes, it was lovely and romantic to say 'when I am with you, nothing else matters.' The trouble was there were all of the other hours of the day and night to contend with. She swept this ever frequently encroaching dilemma from her mind, treating herself to a few more minutes of this sensual pleasure before the pressures of this Saturday began.

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Lunch at the 'Club' was every bit as awful as she had predicted. The much vaunted picturesqueness of the grounds was not in evidence given that it was mid-winter; the tennis courts and the golf course were covered in blankets of snow and ice. The Clubhouse was more show than substance. The floors were faux burled laminate, the massive floor to ceiling columns were constructed of cheap marble, the furniture was mostly imitation covered in thin veneers of mahogany and cherry wood, the paintings on the walls were copies of 19th and 20th century hunting scenes replete with the usual horses and hounds. It was as if someone had plunked down a rather cheap imitation of a National Trust Victorian manor house in the midst of a suburban golf course.

The purpose of the lunch was equal parts interrogation of Louisa and Martin's relationship, Martin's career plans, and, his assessment of the vascular department and its personnel. At some level Louisa could not blame them; having Martin in their midst must have felt rather threatening. Regardless, she deftly thwarted Lisa and Trudy's efforts on all three fronts. She might have been slightly more sympathetic and forthcoming had she realized one part of the reason for Trudy's intrusive curiousity. Her husband had a wandering eye and a philandering hand, as several of the nurses at the Royal Liverpool could attest. Trudy felt that he had expressed rather too much disappointment when Louisa could not attend their annual Christmas party. She hoped to nip his interest in the bud by being able to inform him that Louisa was seriously committed to Martin.

Louisa did however enjoy the Club's lunchtime fare. Her weekday brown bagged lunches typically consisted of sandwiches and salads made at home and eaten in the staff common room. The school cafeteria set prices for staff meals too high for her budget. Today's spinach and kale salad was crisp and colourful, the grilled whiting as fresh as she had ever tasted in Port Wenn, the accompanying winter veg and duchesse potatoes beautifully presented and accompanied by a gravy boat containing a tangy teriyaki sauce. Trudy and Lisa had ordered no appetizers, opting instead for large bowls of garden salad for their entrees, which they alternately picked at and pushed around with their forks. Louisa wondered why they had bothered to order anything at all aside from the martinis and the bottle of dry white wine which they seemed to have no qualms about liberally imbibing.

She could not relate to, nor feign much interest for, any of the topics they initiated: whether to go to Bermuda or the Virgin Islands for vacation, whether next to have a Botox or collagen injection, what type of hidden video camera was best for spying on the nanny. Partially to occupy herself and partially to provoke them out of their haughtiness, Louisa did the unthinkable and ordered herself a dessert. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Lisa watching enviously every time she tucked into the slice of creamy cheesecake drenched in a tart blueberry and Cointreau sauce. Eating dessert was the only part of the entire ninety minutes which Louisa enjoyed.

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As they perused the aisles of the neighbourhood Sainsbury's, Louisa pondered on how much of a couple they had become in the past six months. It was the little things more than anything that she most enjoyed: grocery shopping together like this on a mid-January Saturday afternoon, Martin encouraging her to take the wheel of his new Lexus sedan as they tooled around Liverpool, helping sort out his laundry while he did the ironing, sitting side by side on Sunday mornings reading the newspaper sections while sipping espresso.

She revelled in the fact that the previously lone and solitary Martin Ellingham had finally come to appreciate and to be at peace with her presence in his life. This was the man who, in the first three years he had known her, had practically shunned her presence in all matters social. Until two nights after their engagement she had never even been upstairs in his cottage, never relaxed in his small living room, rarely sat beside him in his car. It was while she was still inwardly complimenting him for the accommodations and progress he had made that she witnessed the accident unfold which was to hit them like a tidal wave, capsizing their happy little boat, leaving them both floundering and desperately searching for something secure to hold onto amidst the debris.

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This story continues next weekend ...


	73. Chapter 73

Chapter Seventy Three

Louisa was still standing halfway up the grocery aisle, musing about the positive changes in Martin, not focusing her attention on the task at hand: selecting a box of organic whole wheat pasta from the shelf in front of her. Martin had grown impatient awaiting her decision, not knowing that her mind was preoccupied with praising him rather than choosing between pasta shells or penne. He had left her and the cart behind to walk ahead to choose a tomato sauce from the shelves near the head of the aisle. As he held a large Mason jar full of spinach and roast pepper tomato sauce in his hand, a young boy turned the corner into their aisle. He was running, giggling and glancing behind him at the slightly younger girl who was giving chase.

The boy ran headlong into Martin's legs, knocking the Mason jar abruptly out of Martin's hand. As it smashed to the floor, Martin attempted to steady himself so as not to fall over the boy who, had been thrown backward by the impact of careening into the esteemed surgical consultant. Unfortunately there was not much space on which to grasp the thin edge of the grocery shelf. Martin's thick fingers missed the shelf edge, instead grabbing onto several bottles of pasta, two of which came smashing to the floor near the boy.

Louisa sprinted the fifteen feet ahead of her to where the boy now lay crying on the floor, woefully rattled by the shock and tumult. Aside from several splotches of tomato sauce spattered on his blue winter coat, he seemed none the worse for wear. Louisa gingerly knelt to comfort him, looking around hopefully for a parent to materialize. One did, just rounding the corner in time to view her frightened child sobbing on the dirty floor while a tall, angry man stood nearby surrounded by glass chards and a stew of various tomato sauces, most of which thickly coated his black leather shoes.

"Oh, my Heavens!" shouted the mother. "Timmy, are you alright?" She abandoned her half-filled grocery cart to run to his side. Louisa already had him sitting up and was expertly checking him over as years of professional experience in the school playground and classroom had taught her.

"He seems fine. Just shaken. He's avoided the glass, fortunately. He might have a bruise from the impact of falling. My partner's a doctor. He'll check him over." Her full attention still on the crying boy, she glanced over at Martin, nodding her head as an indication for him to join them. "Martin, would you look him over, to reassure his mother? There doesn't seem to be any bleeding."

Martin swept aside the mess of glass and sauce to do as he was asked, giving the boy a quick examination. "No, he's alright. There aren't any glass chards in proximity to him and none on his face, hands or clothes. No broken bones and he didn't hit his head. I doubt he will even develop a bruise on his hip or elbow. The heaviness of his winter coat appears to have buffeted the impact of his fall."

"Good," said his mother, visibly relieved. "No harm done then." She hugged her son tightly to her and helped him stand up. His crying ceased once he was pronounced medically fit. He was already making taunting faces at his sister who stood timidly at the top of the aisle, uncertain whether to approach and sucking her thumb for peace of mind.

"No harm done?" exclaimed Martin angrily."No harm done? I should think so. This rambunctious boy could have slashed one of his arteries or veins. He could have gotten glass in his eye, scratching his cornea or worse. Had I not regained my balance in time, I could have brought a whole shelf full of glass bottles raining down upon his head, giving him a concussion or cranial fracture."

The mother looked by turns horrified, aghast and contrite. "I'm so sorry. He got ahead of me when I was still in the last aisle selecting breakfast cereals. He and his sister have been provoking one another since they returned from a birthday party an hour ago." She attempted a conciliatory smile. "I brought them with me, hoping that it would calm them down. They had too much cake and ice cream at the party. They're hopped up on sugar. Poor things."

"That's not much of an excuse, is it, for your bad parenting skills? Maybe you shouldn't be sending them to birthday parties where the hosts can't bother to serve nutritious food. Have you any idea how bad sugar and saturated fats are for a young child? Your undisciplined behaviour is setting up your offspring for a lifetime battle against diabetes, heart disease, stroke and – "

"That's quite enough, Martin. I think this lady has received your message loud and clear," snapped Louisa, holding up a hand in front of him.

The mother's mouth was agape. She stared at Martin in dismay. Her son, who looked no more than seven, couldn't quite gauge what was going on but sniffing the tension in the air, started to giggle nervously as he held onto his mother's waist.

"The important thing," said Louisa in her most conciliatory and calm Head Teacher's tone, "the important thing is that no one got hurt." She flashed a warning signal again to Martin.

The boy continued to giggle but appeared soothed by Louisa's voice. He let go of his mother and put his hands in his pockets.

"You think this is funny?" Martin was poised for a rant, peering down at the boy from what must have appeared to him a veritable giant's height. "Is this some sort of big joke to you?"

The boy cowered again. This time attempting to burrow into his mother's duffle coat. He began to whimper.

"What if I had been a seventy-five year old woman with a history of severe osteoporosis? What then, eh? You could have pushed me down, causing me to fracture a hip and possibly never walk again without the aid of a walker or cane? That wouldn't have been so funny then would – "

"Martin, stop it! You're scaring him. He's only a young child." She glared at him, the green of her eyes ablaze.

There was a momentary silence. One awkward pause, just long enough for everyone to look at the ground or at their feet. Long enough a breather for Martin to notice his lower pant legs and the bottom quarter of his trench coat. Both were heavily spotted with a variety of tomato sauces. He groaned. It was bad enough that his shoes were drenched in a variety of gooey tomato liquids. His day seemed to be getting worse by the minute and his mood had been none too good to begin with, knowing that he would soon have to find a way to discuss with Louisa the dilemma that was their future.

The mother looked too. "Heavens! I'm so sorry. Those trousers and that coat are going to need dry-cleaning. Please allow me to give you some money towards it." She opened her purse.

"No need," Martin replied in a huff. "Clearly some damage has been done but I'm quite able to pay for it myself."

"Thank you just the same. That's very good of you to offer." Louisa smiled her best consoling smile at the perturbed mother.

"Sorry again," mumbled the mother, looking like she would rather have spent the last five minutes enduring a root canal than facing Martin's wrath. "Come on, Timmy. Go collect your sister. We'd best be off." With that she pushed the shopping cart down the aisle as if her life depended on it, gaining as much speed as possible to thrust herself and her child away from Martin.

Louisa turned to face Martin.

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This story (actually this chapter) continues …


	74. Chapter 74

Chapter Seventy Four

The mother and her offspring having made a beeline for the next aisle, Louisa inwardly issued a silent prayer of thanks. Just as quickly she let out a sigh of exasperation; she was none too pleased with Martin's imperious floorside manner. Why was it that he so often felt the need to berate those he helped?

"I'll go to the customer service desk and tell them that a clean-up is required in aisle four. Then I'll get you some wet paper towels from the loo. Let's see if we can't get those stains under control so that a permanent mark isn't left behind. The pants are charcoal colour; the drycleaner should be able to salvage them. But I don't hold out much hope for your trenchcoat."

Martin tried to shake some of the pasta sauce off his shiny leather shoes. "I'm just glad this incident is over."

"What are you glad about? That the poor boy didn't severe an artery? Me too. Thank goodness." She was relieved that all had ended well, considering how seriously the boy could have been injured. But she needed a breather from Martin. A trip to the customer service desk and the bathroom would give her a chance to cool her temper.

"Of course. That too. Nonetheless he was very badly behaved." He felt a twinge of guilt considering how abrupt he had been with the boy. Yes, the boy had deserved a good talking to but perhaps he could have ratcheted down his anger, especially in front of Louisa. The child had startled him and that was enough to be a source of irritation today. "Perhaps I was a little harsh in my comments but …"

"Kids will be kids, Martin. He didn't mean any harm. It wasn't deliberate. There was no need to frighten him with your lecture. Kids do roughhouse at that age. I was the same way. I shouldn't wonder with all that sugar in his system whether his mother will be able to convince him to eat any dinner at all this evening." She looked at her watch. "Speaking of which, we'd better drive straight home once we get this mess cleaned up, otherwise our own meal won't be ready until late." She made ready to head for the customer service desk.

Martin, being Martin, wouldn't let it go. Provoked by the situation, cross after a long week of work and on edge about his future with Louisa, he said something in a manner and tone that he was bitterly to regret for weeks to come. He wasn't a good sailor. Instead of sailing their little boat into calmer waters as he planned, he pushed them further out on the choppy seas until they ran straight into the path of the oncoming gale force winds.

"I'm just glad that we won't have to worry about undisciplined children like that in our future."

Louisa stopped dead in her tracks and turned on her heel to face him, head cocked to one side, scrutinizing his words, unsure of what he meant. "Every school, every park, every playground, has boys and girls like that. It's human nature, Martin."

"Perhaps. Fortunately that will not be our problem," he replied, navigating their sailboat unintentionally but squarely into the direction of the looming storm.

"Whatever are you talking about? It will be soon – when we have a child or children of our own. We'll have to learn how to deal with excited kids, just like every parent does."

"But we won't be having any children of our own," he said tersely, frustrated that she must always downplay his unease with children and his fear of parenthood, not thinking to put a diplomatic spin on his words. He was tired, his clothes ruined, his shoes wet; he had no energy for diplomacy. The words had been uttered spontaneously and sincerely. It was what he felt, what he had always felt and that would not be changed no matter how nicely he uttered them.

"What?" She was astonished that he could summarily dismiss her dreams so brutally, without discussion, explanation or debate.

"I have told you this before. Absolutely no children."

For Louisa this was positively the last straw.

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Their tiny sailboat overturned. The wind shredded the single sail in two, the wooden steering wheel cracked. Even if they were able to right themselves again, there seemed nothing left to steer by and no sail to harness the power of the wind to thrust the broken boat forward. Thrown overboard, they were both left madly treading water to stay afloat as the sea's flotsam and jetsam roiled around them.

When the storm quickly abated, as sudden turbulence at sea often does, Martin and Louisa would see, in the distance, a beacon of light shining out to them from a nearby lighthouse on the piece of land in close proximity. It was possible that the two of them could overturn the lightweight hull, which was still in one piece, and grab the emergency oars. The lighthouse beam could serve as their guide as they rowed back to the proximate shore.

To achieve this goal, they would have to row in tandem, stroke matching stroke, efficiently pulling together as a team. They could not afford to waste their energy on anything nonessential; they would have to concentrate solely on the objective of safely reaching dry land together and intact. It would take patience, perseverance and the desire to stay focused only on what was most important.

The moment of crisis had descended upon them; it could no longer be avoided, circumvented or sidestepped.

They would have to row as if their lives depended upon it.

End of Part Seven

Author's Note: **SPOILER ALERT** – For those loyal readers who may be on the point of despair with this story, wishing to throw this author to the sharks or dash themselves on the rocks in exasperation, have faith. It is always darkest before the dawn. The crisis point has now been reached. A new day is coming, filled with the hope of something better as the last section of this chapter hopefully indicates.


	75. Chapter 75

Part Eight of Resolutions

Chapter Seventy Five

Author's Note: Not the beginning of the end, just the beginning of something better.

In traditional fairy tales the prince slays the dragon and frees the princess. In more modern versions it is the princess who rescues the imperiled prince. In real life the prince and princess save each other.

The alarm bell rang so loudly in Martin's head that he actually wondered whether he was experiencing tinnitus. The bell did not stop clanging on that long, silent drive home from the Tesco's. Nor did it cease during dinner, which was also a painfully quiet affair. For a physician who was supremely good at interpreting the warning signs of acute distress in his patients, Martin often failed to recognize them in his personal life. Tonight however, the distress signs were so blatantly unmistakable that even he could not fail to notice that Louisa was simultaneously furious, hurt and disappointed in him.

He wished now that he had been more circumspect with the rambunctious boy in the supermarket; less dismissive, less annoyed, less frightening. But the child had startled him just when he was most deep in serious conversation with himself. He had been trying to decide what to say to Louisa about jeopardizing her future. Martin never liked to be disturbed by anyone whilst he was concentrating on serious matters. Consequently he had felt provoked and irritated by the boy. It was similar to what his father had felt whenever Martin had rushed in to his father's study full of joy at having caught a butterfly or triumphant at having repaired a clock. Just like his father. He had behaved just like his father. Exactly the reason why he should never have children, even if he might think it not a bad idea in principle. He would be just like his unsympathetic, punitive and controlling father. For that Louisa would never and could never forgive him. He saw proof of that clearly etched in the pained expression on her face this afternoon.

So fully mired was Martin in the muck of his muddying negative thoughts that he failed to appreciate the enhanced level of self-awareness he now possessed. Ten months of psychotherapy had given him a newfound insight. He gave himself absolutely no credit for having the perception to recognize shades of his father's character within himself. More importantly, unlike his father, Martin experienced a sense of shame and contrition about his shoddy treatment of the boy and his mother. In the past few months similar type outbursts had become less frequent and he was firmly resolved to further decrease them. Something his father had never done nor felt the compunction to do. This in itself was symptomatic of his changed nature. All Martin could perceive however, all that he could believe, was that he was and would always continue to be, just like his father.

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After merely pecking at their pasta and greek salad, neither Martin nor Louisa felt much like trying to stuff down dessert. Nor did they want to prolong the agony of facing one another any longer across the dining room table. Martin stood abruptly to clear away the dishes, thankful for something to do besides fiddle with his food and stare at the wall.

At that moment Louisa finally decided to break her silence and look him squarely in the eyes for the first time since leaving Tesco's. "As soon as the washing up is finished, you and I are going to sit on that sofa and have a long talk. Right?" Her tone was clipped and curt.

Wanting to forestall the inevitable and unpleasant demise of their relationship, Martin replied, "I – I have some research to do on the computer this evening. You said you were going to watch a movie on the t-"

"Oh no you don't. This isn't something that we can continue to evade forever. You can do that bloody research tomorrow after I'm on the train." She was brooking no dissent, taking no prisoners. "I'm leaving at noon, remember? I left that huge pile of unmarked essays behind on my kitchen table because I came down here to be with you and to fulfill my lunch obligation to Trudy and Lisa. That marking has got to be submitted on Monday morning. As it is, I won't be home until past three o'clock. So our proper little chat cannot wait. You can bet that I'm not leaving here without us getting a few things cleared up. Got it?"

Martin swallowed hard and nodded. Her ultimatum left absolutely zero room for negotiation.

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Martin hoped that the longer he took to do the washing up, the faster and further Louisa might cool down. It seemed a good idea in theory. In practice it wasn't holding up. She paced in short, rapid strides up and down his tiny hallway, arms folded tightly, jaw clenched, ponytail swishing angrily from side to side. If anything, the extra time Martin was taking in the kitchen seemed to further fuel her disquiet and restlessness. After he had furiously scrubbed the sink twice, he could delay no longer and wretchedly surrendered himself to the inevitable.

He came into the living room, pausing momentarily to sip from the glass of water he had brought with him, hoping to moisten his suddenly parched throat. He stood, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Well?"

Louisa plunked down on the sofa. Irritated, she barked at him," For Heaven's sake, sit down. I'm not having this discussion with you looming over me like that."

Reluctantly he deposited himself on the edge of the large arm chair across from her, carefully putting down the glass of water on a medical journal and gripping the top of his thighs through the suit material. "Perhaps your lunch with those horrid women has made you overly cross. … Maybe we should wait a bit longer, to let your temper cool."

"I'm not cross!" She burst forth, furious and frustrated that he could so easily misinterpret the root cause of her anger. She flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes, giving herself a moment to calm down. "Alright, I am cross but it's not because of lunch," she admitted. "Although now that you mention it, no, I didn't enjoy my lunch date very much."

"I told you to cancel. You needn't waste your time with them."

"That would have been extremely rude of me. Trudy and Lisa may not be my cup of tea but I wasn't going to be impolite by fobbing them off with a flimsy excuse. It's the second social function they've invited me to in a month. Anyway, I don't think they are as bad as I first thought. It's mostly that we don't have anything in common aside from our husbands– or partners – being vascular consultants in the same hospital. But since you mentioned my lunch date, it would be nice if you would accept at least one invitation to socialize with your colleagues. Apparently you, or we, have received several invitations to dinner since October."

Martin rolled his eyes.

"Don't do that, Martin. They can't all be the idiots you make them out to be. Your assistant chief seemed very nice and isn't his wife a neurologist? At the staff Christmas party she told me they spent their first few years of practice in different cities until a position opened for her up here. They did a lot of shuttling back and forth. I wouldn't mind a chance to talk to her more fully than the fifteen minutes we chatted over cocktails. It wouldn't hurt you either to make a friend."

"You know that I abhor political currying for favour."

"I know that. I'm not suggesting you do it for that reason. Rather it might be pleasant for you to make a friend or two. You and I mostly see each other for two or three weekends a month. That leaves a fair bit of time in between when you are alone."

"I don't need anybody. I'm quite happy on my own. Besides, I'm amidst people all day at the hospital and on weekends I have errands to run and medical journals to read when you aren't here."

"Yea. I realize that but it's not the same as having someone to have lunch or tea with, is it? There must be a person or people at the hospital with whom you share enough common interests to tolerate socially for a few hours a week?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders. He enjoyed participating in surgical rounds, attending hospital seminars and medical school guest lectures. Beyond that he hadn't really thought.

"It's not something I've considered. I usually eat my meals alone in my office, not at the staff cafeteria."

"Think of it another way. It would also be nice for me to make at least one friend in Liverpool. Nice for us to befriend a couple or two. Outside of work I haven't much of an opportunity to meet people given that I'm here most weekends."

"Or in Port Wenn."

Louisa bristled. "On holidays, yea. Otherwise most of my free time is spent here with you."

He had merely introduced Port Wenn as a statement of fact but mentioning it summoned up the spectre of what lay between them, what was threatening to tear them apart. A coolness descended upon the room once more. Dialogue ceased. A seemingly interminable silence fell again, forestalling the inevitable conversation. Martin stared uncomfortably at his clasped hands. Louisa chewed at a jagged finger nail. The pendulum clock ticked loudly in the hallway, marking off the minutes until they felt the urge to speak to one another again about the subject that was most on their minds.

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This story continues …


	76. Chapter 76

Chapter Seventy Six

"Louisa, about what happened this afternoon in the supermarket …" His voice trailed off hesitantly. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to bring it up now, to inject it into the pregnant silence. Louisa appeared to have calmed down. Perhaps this discussion should wait, could be put off. It was bound to end unhappily anyway.

"Yes?" she prompted him. "Go on. Please," she urged.

Whatever was coming, no matter how bad it might seem in the present moment, it had ultimately to be aired. If they were ever to move on, they needed to both understand exactly where they stood. If nothing else, it would be a relief to have things out in the open. Nothing good could come from keeping their close held desires and concerns continuously suppressed.

He watched her for a moment, the skin around those beautiful green eyes of hers crinkled up in nervous anticipation. When he spoke it was haltingly. "Perhaps I didn't … handle the … situation in the supermarket … as well as I could have …"

"You can say that again, so much for your bedside manner – ". She stopped herself in mid-sentence. That admonition had been suffused with far too much sarcasm. Taking that tone with him was plain wrong, especially considering that for Martin, his last statement was akin to an admission of error or an apology. He had done more apologizing in the past six months than in the entire four years she had known him.

She decided on a different approach, less anger and less ridicule. "Yes, I agree with your assessment of the situation. He was only a boy, Martin. He couldn't be expected to show either the good judgment or the wisdom of an adult. That's developmental child psychology 101. Somewhere in your vast repertoire of knowledge and study, you must have learned that. That giant brain of yours doesn't forget much – unless it chooses to."

"Um … yes."

"Well then, if you understand the theory, why can't you manage to put it into practice?" She was still exasperated with him for a lesson that he appeared to have such immense trouble absorbing. "Why can't you ever understand that children frighten easily, that they require reassurance and empathy? You need to stay calm as much as you can when they are frightened or overexcited." Advice she knew to be sound but she which she herself did not always follow in the schoolhouse.

"This should precisely demonstrate my point regarding why I am not cut out to be a father. You surely must know that by now. Today was just one more hideous but instructive example." He sighed, thinking about his own father and the day he had lit into the young Martin for rushing into his office with a butterfly in a jar.

Louisa knew to what Martin was referring. In the past six months, as they had become closer, he had shared with her some of the details of his unhappy childhood. It had been one more demonstration and indication of their growing trust and intimacy. Had he been sitting with her now on the sofa, she would have taken him into her arms.

Instead she spoke to him in the soothing voice she reserved solely for him, "No, I know that you suffered a horrible upbringing at the hands of two very selfish and self-absorbed parents who packed you off to boarding school as soon as you were of legal age; they ignored you at holiday time or sent you off to Joan. There is no excuse for how they treated you." She beseeched him, "But that does not, in any way, forebode you becoming a parent like either of them."

"But I could be."

"But you don't have to be," she said in an emphatic cadence reflecting her determination to drive home the point. "Most people have messy pasts; some learn from them. You do not have to be your father. You are not your father."

She went quiet for a minute, mulling over how best to transform her thoughts into constructive words. "Martin, I see all the good in you. If you let yourself, you could be a wonderful parent. I have great faith in you. I've waited so many years to find the right man to be the father of my children. I have had a number of offers along the way but none of those men could hold a candle to you, Martin Ellingham."

She shook her head." If it's not too late for me, I want to have at least one child. With you. You once told me, outside of the Oakwoods' cottage on the day that Sam was diagnosed with TB, that I would make a lovely mother. Do you still believe that?" She was perched at the end of the sofa, waiting anxiously for his answer.

"Of course. You would. Undoubtedly." Then the hammer fell. "Just not with me as the father. Louisa, don't you see? How can I make you understand?"

This was no good, her building up her hopes like that. They had to be squelched once and for all. He would not be the father of her children. Until Louisa had entered his life he had not felt even the slightest inkling to become a parent. She had made him feel that it was possible. That she had conjured up those feelings in him, even briefly, had been staggering and completely unnerving. She often managed to do that to him; stir up a flux of emotions that he had either long suppressed or felt himself incapable of possessing.

"Try. Please. Because I'm really confused right now."

"You would make a lovely mother. I, on the other hand, would make a terrible father. Pretty soon I would begin to disappoint you … just like I did today. You would spend your life apologizing for my behaviour, trying to correct my appalling parenting skills. Our child would suffer too. No one would come out of it unscathed. Like with my own family. You only have to ask Joan. She'll corroborate. I couldn't do that to you … or to our child."

"No! No, I simply do not believe that. Whatever you have experienced, however you think that you will act; it can all transform in the moment when you yourself become a parent. When you see the face of your own child for the first time, form a bond – "

"Perhaps for others. Not for me. Anyway, studies have shown that – "

She could feel the tears forming. Her mouth dried. She blurted out hoarsely, cutting him off, unable to bear yet another medical lecture intended to disprove her unscientific thesis and to divert his escalating emotions, "So that's it then? We are to become a childless couple, by our own choice – or rather by your choice."

With a heavy feeling of resignation, he said, "Yes. It's for the best. Believe me. It strikes me as the most prudent and logical course of action for both of us, for our relationship. This way no one gets hurt."

"No one gets hurt? Are you winding me up?"

She calmed herself, not wanting this conversation to descend into another shouting match, another battle of wills as in foregone days. They had too much respect for each other now for that. Thrash it out they might but not insult and belittle each other. Instead she implored him," How can I possibly express to you how important it is to me to become a mother?"

Now that she had finally given that wish a voice, she realized just how desperately and for how long she had wanted him to hear that, to comprehend fully how she felt, what she needed and what she believed he could give to her. He heard all too clearly the heartbreak and the pleading in her voice. He was gutted but felt he must stick with his resolution.

His voice was gentle when he spoke next, "I understand that. I'm truly sorry that it can't be otherwise. Not with me anyway."

"So that's decided then? Issue resolved. File closed," she said bitterly, throwing out the words.

Why did everything with him have to be so absolute? She put her head in her hands for a moment, willing herself not to sob. She felt so deflated, watching as life slammed another door in her face.

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This story continues …


	77. Chapter 77

Chapter Seventy Seven

When Louisa could bring herself to speak again, she could not wring out the bitter tone from entering her next question. "And we are to both live permanently in London once a suitable position becomes available for you?"

"That's the way I hope it will be. Or at least I did hope it would be." Better to tell her everything. It was definitely time. If not now, when? Martin frowned and shook his head. When he next spoke, it was in earnest. "You see, I'm not so certain anymore. I chose to think for a number of months that being together in London was what you would want as much as me. But that was until recently."

"Until recently? Why? What's happened to make you doubt it?" She could not imagine what disheartening thing would next roll out of his mouth.

"We went to Port Wenn for Christmas week. You seemed so happy there. More happy than I've seen you in months. And Stuart Mackenzie told me how much the Board of Governors wants you back as Head Teacher once Mr. Whatshisname finishes his contract in June. For those reasons and more … like having children, I have begun to wonder whether you and I should really stay together."

There. He had finally said it aloud and in her presence. It was a relief to get it out in the open but he couldn't bear to look at her anymore, to watch the pain he had just inflicted ignite and spread across her face. "Since then I've had the growing conviction that I would not, or rather could not, make you happy. It's why we didn't get married before. I'm not about to make that same mistake again. Making you miserable, the failure of it would be more than I could bear."

Louisa's jaw dropped. Could this really be happening? She remembered that night last October when he had declared her to be his best friend, solicited her support in overcoming his haemophobia and, confirmed her value and place in his life. Had they come so far these past six months only to be felled again by their differences? Was it conceivable that they were on the verge of another break-up?

Martin looked out the window at the dark winter sky, momentarily shutting everything out that was transpiring inside of the flat. Then he darted a glance her way. "Tell me honestly. What I am offering you now: a life in central London; living in a flat or eventually a townhouse; maybe a small cottage in Cornwall for holidays or to retire to in fifteen or twenty years; teaching in a London school; no children. Would that be enough to make you satisfied for the rest of your life?"

In that instant Louisa's brain flashed back to the first time that question had been posed to her. It was last August. Louisa had been furious at Lindsay, initially thinking that her friend was trying to undermine her happiness. Now, six months later, Louisa realized that Lindsay had been trying to prepare and forewarn her about just this moment.

"Maybe … possibly." She slowly shook her head. "No. Honestly I thought I could do it. Really I did. I wanted to so much. I can't believe that I am saying this but you're right. Helping out at the Lifeboat Society fundraiser and being home again, made me realize just how very much I missed my life in Port Wenn. Then the vote of confidence from the Board of Governors; I've been feeling so guilty about having left them in the lurch last December. And … I don't think I am cut out for big city life. Not on a permanent basis anyway. I would always feel the tug of coastal Cornwall, of home. Sorry. It's just who I am."

She could not bear to look at him anymore, to face this brutal admission so long kept buried within her. "I cannot seem to shut off those feelings, no matter how much I try. I thought I could do it, for you. But now, hearing you say so adamantly that you don't want children with me … I don't know. Maybe it isn't enough for me anymore, knowing that some of the dreams I most cherish will never come to fruition. I'm just so sorry, Martin." She wrung her hands. She hadn't realized how strongly she had felt until this moment.

"No, I can understand that. Don't apologize. Please," he said with sympathetic resignation. It was what he had surmised and most feared. Lindsay's prophetic words were coming true.

She laid another card on the table; another admission that needed to be aired. "And I can understand you not wanting to return to Port Wenn as its GP. I realized that very clearly at the Royal Liverpool Christmas Party. You are back in your element again: in a teaching hospital, as a vascular consultant and conducting research, aren't you?"

He nodded his head in tacit agreement, detesting the fact that he had to agree with her and thus dash her dreams of a happy life with him in Cornwall. "Yes. I can't seem to shut off those feelings either. Being a GP again … it would be difficult for me, going backwards. I think I am better suited to being a surgeon."

"I thought so. If I gave you an ultimatum, demanding or pleading that you come back to Port Wenn with me or we were finished, that would be the wrong way to conduct a relationship or a marriage. Even if you decided to comply, you would grow resentful soon enough."

She paused for a moment, hesitant to reveal to him her greatest fear but knowing that he deserved to hear the truth."Unfulfilled as a GP to a village you despise, watching me grow discontented without a family of my own. I couldn't do that to you. I would always be wondering. At the back of my mind would be this persistent fear eating away at me: if you being with me, giving up London and surgery … you making all of those sacrifices for me … if that would be enough for you."

She clasped her hands together, trying hard to force out this last bit of confession. "I … I wouldn't blame you for not being able to stick it out. But you see, that fear would always be inside of me … that sometime you would leave … abandon me, just like others have done in my life … off to greener pastures elsewhere."

She inhaled a deep breath and wiped the tears from her face. "So, "she said hoarsely, "You in London, me in Port Wenn. Would it work? Not just for the next year or two but for the next twenty years?"

He answered her question with one of his own. "Would you be content for us to only see each other on holidays, mid-term breaks and in the summer?"

"Temporarily, yes. On a permanent basis involving more than a couple of years? No. That's not my idea of a stable partnership or marriage. I know that others do manage it quite well. I couldn't. I wouldn't want to."

"It seems like we have our answer", he responded sadly.

"So that's it, then? All the cards have been placed upwards on the table. It's best if we go our separate ways. Maybe exchange greeting cards at Christmas and birthdays?"

Everything had been revealed, home truths had been spoken, fears acknowledged; there seemed little left to add. They sat opposite one another, a distance of a mere few feet and stared bleakly across the great divide. Both Martin and Louisa wondered how ever could they forge a bridge to meet one another in the middle, because that, in spite of everything that had just transpired, was what they most wanted.

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This story continues tomorrow…

Happy Canada Day weekend to Canadians near and far!


	78. Chapter 78

Chapter Seventy Eight

**Author's Note**: For those readers who didn't want to wait another week to find out whether Martin and Louisa were going to break up, here is the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with this story and its many twists and turns.

Problems are difficult to solve unless people are honest and forthright with themselves and others that a problem exists. Recognizing, acknowledging and identifying that there is a problem, and, defining it are often the first steps to resolving it.

Martin was drowning. Their boat had been drifting quietly, pleasantly bobbing along on the beautifully tranquil blue sea, until unexpectedly a powerful gale had brewed up in front of them. They could not seem to circumvent it nor turn back. Their boat had split in two. Louisa hung onto the bow, Martin clung to the stern. The two pieces drifted further and further apart, scuttling their best efforts to try to stay together. Louisa was finally able to climb back into the bow, grasping the wooden sides to stay afloat as the waves began to dissipate and the winds subside. Martin was not so fortunate. He could not right himself again, could not hold on, was unable to stabilize himself. Panicked, he kept calling her name …

"Martin! Martin! Wake up."

Out of the fog he could hear her still calling out to him, trying to rescue him. Quickly he regained consciousness and sat up straight in bed. This time he heard her quite clearly whispering to him. Her hand was on his upper back, rubbing it gently. She was watching over him, her face concerned.

"It's okay. Shhh. You've had a bad dream, that's all. You're fine. Just fine."

He did not feel fine. He was utterly forlorn. As he caught his breath and endeavoured to slow his pounding heart, he was gratified to realize that she was still right beside him, in his bed. Last night, following their candid and searingly painful conversation, he had offered to do the gentlemanly thing and sleep on the sofa. She had insisted that they sleep in the same bed, needing the comfort of his presence.

"Alright now? It's only six o'clock. Can you go back to sleep?"

"No, I don't think so. I tossed and turned most of the night as it was."

"I know. I've been awake since four. My overwrought brain wouldn't let me rest. It's been trying to puzzle things out. As difficult as it was, we needed to have that talk, to finally air our differences. But I have to tell you, Martin … it's not on. Not good enough to end things here and now. I am simply not prepared to give up on us quite so easily, despite the obvious challenges. After all we have meant to each other, and still mean, I refuse to quit our relationship without putting up a bloody good fight first." She was resolute.

Martin lay back on his pillows, looking up at her, now fully awake. He shook his head and said quietly, "Wouldn't it be simpler and more practical to end it now? After all we said to each other last night? We can't seem to agree on anything and I refuse to make you miserable."

"Probably the logical thing to do. Likely it would make things less painful. But is that what you really want?" She scrunched down on her pillows so that her face was level with his. She lay on her side, no more than a few inches away from him; their fingers almost touching, wanting to touch, beckoning.

He turned on his side to face her directly. "No, definitely not. But you could do so much better than me. You deserve better than me. Honestly I don't see another solution. We don't seem to want the same things. Clearly that hasn't changed in six months."

"That isn't quite accurate. Above all else, we want each other and to be together, yes?" She allowed her index finger to caress his thumb where it grasped the side of his pillow.

"Of course." What good was all this talk if he couldn't make her happy?

"Well, those are the most important pieces of the puzzle. We have both spent the better part of the last year figuring out how much we wanted to be together and how to make that work. You especially. How hard you have pushed yourself to make changes, to allow yourself to be the extraordinary man I always knew was lurking beneath that gruff exterior."

She momentarily touched his shoulder, suppressing the urge to stroke his perturbed face. She said calmly, "But if you can lie here now, look me squarely in the eye and tell me honestly that you would rather end things, I will promise to leave this morning without making a scene. No hysterics or histrionics. You won't have to see me again. You can box up the few items of clothes and sundries that I keep here and mail them to me." She held her breath in anticipation of his answer, feeling her stomach muscles clench involuntarily.

Martin, unable to resist any longer, stroked her hair in long, languid movements. "It was never my intention to reconcile with you in July then break off with you in January when the going got rough."

Louisa smiled, pleased with his answer, comforted by his touch. "My point exactly. Isn't that what we would be doing now?" She moved closer to him, intent on making him understand, her fingertips now grazing his cheek. "I spent three years poking and prodding you into a relationship with me. You spent three years alternating between admiring and avoiding me. When we hit a bad patch last November, I cut and ran. You were too afraid to approach me to attempt another reconciliation, afraid to say or do the wrong thing. But these past six months represent the best this relationship has been in four years."

She caressed his open palm. "Just look at me. "See. I'm not running away. And you, you want to find some way to work it out, despite what you think logic and prudence should dictate. That's a marked change, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I agree with everything you've said. But with you in Port Wenn and me in London, I don't see an optimum solution. This is real life, not a romance novel. Neither of us is magically going to give up everything for the other."

"No. Nor should we. That's not fair. Look. I've been thinking and I know this will sound counterintuitive but why we don't we take a break from us for a little while? Not see each other for a bit – "

He stopped stroking her hair. What she said made little sense to him. "Isn't that the same as ending the relationship?"

"Not at all. Let me finish. We take a little time off from physically being together. Get our own heads and priorities clear. Discover and decide what we each really want from life now that we know exactly how the other feels. I think we were very clear last night in saying what we did and didn't want. Perhaps we need to consider how much we are willing to compromise rather than sacrifice for each other."

She looked at him intently. "Maybe that way we can avoid this becoming a matter of brinkmanship – where each of us tries to push or pressure the other into doing what they don't want. Otherwise this relationship crumbles and frankly, I don't think it could survive another go around. Let's not play brinkmanship or poker; let's not gamble with each other's fears and feelings."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They let the silence envelope them for a few minutes. Each contemplating Louisa's suggestion; neither wanting to reflect on the unpleasant option of a permanent separation.

Martin spoke first, reflecting his ambivalence: not wanting her to vacate his life, not wanting her to stay with him if he was not going to make her happy. He said uncertainly, already contemplating the initial pangs of loneliness without her constant presence in his life. "How much time off?"

"I don't know. A few weeks, a month maybe. As long as it takes. No one's offered me that post in Port Wenn yet nor appointed you to a consultant's position in London. So we have the luxury of a little time now before the deadlines begin to pressure us into making decisions. It's only mid-January. Come Spring you will have to start thinking about whether you want to stay in Liverpool for another year or search for a post in London. I will have my preliminary interview in April for the Head Teacher's post. And … in May I turn thirty-nine."

Martin chose to carefully sidestep the implications of that last deadline: Louisa's dwindling fertility. "Alright. If you think this is for the best."

"I do. Honestly. It's not what I want either but I do think it's what we both need right now. Maybe some time apart will help us appreciate why we want to stay together. We laid all of our cards pretty clearly on the table last night. We are both quite keenly aware of the inevitable, impending and unhappy alternative if we can't hit upon a resolution."

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This story continues next weekend …


	79. Chapter 79

Chapter Seventy Nine

The boarding call sounded for Louisa's train. She reached up and tenderly kissed Martin's cheek, allowing her lips to linger a moment, brushing lightly against his soft skin. "You know that you can call or email me whenever you want, right? Anytime. I mean it. Particularly if you experience any symptoms of haemophobia … or loneliness. This isn't a self-imposed exile; it's meant to be a period of self-reflection and contemplation."

"Calling you at work is impractical. You said that you aren't supposed to take personal calls unless it is an emergency," he replied gruffly, hating every minute of her departure but understanding that they had little choice. His arms went rigid at his side.

Louisa noticed his movement and rubbed her hands down along the sides of his coat sleeves to ease his tension. "Yea, I wasn't being literal. Email me then. Or call me at night at home. The point is to stay in touch. Talk things over if we decide anything. Okay?"

"Yea." He frowned, not happy with their new arrangement but loathing the alternative. He knew she was right; they needed some time apart to mull and ponder after their discussion last night.

"Well … bye." She turned to walk towards the boarding gate, wishing she could call in sick tomorrow and stay with him another night. It wasn't possible. That marking was due in the morning and she had a lot to finish off before the Silent Auction on Saturday evening.

"Louisa?"

His voice had an urgent quality that made her spin around. "Yes?"

She saw his eyes widen and soften. He looked unbearably sad. She wished there was something more she could say to make him feel better, to reassure him that things would come out right in the end but that assurance, at this juncture, would ring false.

"I just wanted to say that … that I'm sorry I've disappointed you. That I can't be who you want me to be. It should never have come to this. I never set out to make you unhappy. You deserve better."

She let go of the handle on her carry-on suitcase. Forgetting that they were in the middle of the Liverpool train station, mentally shutting out the bustle that surrounded her, she reached up her hands to cup his cheeks. She felt that familiar thrill run through her body, the pleasure she received knowing that he allowed her to touch him like this, with such an intimate gesture. It was a privilege that likely had ever been offered to few other women. Much as Martin was generally uncomfortable with such public displays of affection, he did not flinch in this instance.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "My love, you haven't disappointed me. You are very much the man I had hoped you would be. The fact that we spent much of last night and this morning trying to figure things out, speaks volumes about how much you have changed in the past year. Changed is perhaps inaccurate; evolved maybe, drawn to the surface part of your personality that lay dormant. … I'm not expressing this well. I'm not a psychologist. Anyway, you have allowed me to see the real you. I'm very grateful to you for that."

She bit her trembling lip, frowned and glanced away for a moment. "I hope I haven't disappointed you too much either, not being who or what you wanted me to be. We're at a crossroads now. Let's see if we can find a way to traverse it together."

The second and final call for her train was announced. "I had better go." She flashed him a weak smile. "Otherwise I will be walking back to London." She kissed him fully on the lips, pulling back in time to observe his eyes open, glistening with a hint of tears.

She walked away briskly; glad that he could not see that she had started to sob. She was so dreadfully disappointed and angry. Not with Martin but with Life or Fate or whatever ephemeral entity that had allowed this to happen, that had a hand in sabotaging her much sought after happiness. What was the point in apportioning blame or fault? Where was the sense in that? She did not blame Martin for wanting to be a surgeon again or for him wanting to live in a large cosmopolitan city or for being so afraid of his past that he could not bear to have children. No more could she blame herself for wanting to be a state schoolteacher in her home village or for wanting to create the happy stable family life that she too had been denied.

Martin watched her until she disappeared at the foot of the escalator; till there was not even a fraction of her to catch sight of. He wondered whether he would ever set eyes on her again. He was so disappointed and angry with himself. He had never been proficient at making people happy. Why had he thought he could do so this time, even when it mattered most? He cursed himself for being a failure when so much was at stake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Before her train had travelled its first mile out of the Liverpool train station, she received an email from Martin:

Regardless of what's now between us, please email me as usual as soon as

you arrive home. I want to know that you have arrived safely.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The thing that saved them both during that first, traumatic week was the press of work. Louisa, in addition to her teaching duties, was the staff liaison for the Silent Auction at Saturday's Tarlington Hall Gala. The Headmistress had picked her especially for the role. Louisa still felt a sense of loyalty and obligation to the woman who had given her a job when she had first arrived in London feeling wounded, distressed and alone. Consequently she had thrown herself into the task. Moreover she was pleased that one-third of the net proceeds would be donated to a local children's cancer charity. One of the good things that Louisa could say about the school's parents was that they were generous patrons. Unlike Port Wenn Primary, this school lacked for nothing. Still, the Gala continued to raise money each year for new school projects and this year was no exception.

Every night that week she stayed late to help catalogue, price and chase down promised auction items. Friday evening as she was sitting home nursing a glass of wine and making final computerized additions to the catalogue, her mobile rang. It was Martin. She was delighted, having missed him greatly throughout the week but afraid to intrude on his privacy.

"Martin. Hello," she said breathlessly.

"Louisa …" It was good to hear her voice. "I thought I'd call to see if you were well." That didn't come out the way he wanted it to. He was interested in so much more than her physical health.

"Fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"Well. Thank you for asking," he answered stiffly.

She smiled into the phone. "Now that the pleasantries are over, tell me how you really are."

"I'm … alright." No, that wasn't' good enough. He wanted her to know that he hadn't forgotten their decision. "Still thinking about last weekend."

"I know. Me too. Are you really okay?" She knew Martin hated to be asked that question but she never could stop herself from asking.

"Yes, busy preparing for leading the surgical team next Monday week."

"I was wondering how that was going. You know you can call me any evening if you want some moral support. Nothing's changed."

"Thank you. I had my latest cybersession with Dr. Travers on Wednesday evening. He seems to think I have things well in hand."

"Good."

Silence. Followed by more awkward silence. Fearing that their conversation was about to end and not wanting it to, she added,"I've been up to my eyeballs all week in the final details for the Silent Auction tomorrow night. The amount of work that's gone into planning the entire Gala has been staggering. The Parents Council has been at it for months. Honestly, they are a force unto themselves. It puts our annual school fete in Port Wenn to shame."

"Don't say that. You worked very hard to make those fetes a success. You can't compare the two."

"Thank you, Martin. That's very nice of you to say."

"That's why I was calling actually. About the auction."

"Oh?" This was a surprise. She didn't think he had remembered.

"I would like to make a contribution, to buy you something at the auction. Anything you like. Just buy it and I'll reimburse you."

"Martin! That's very sweet of you. Honestly, it's not necessary." She was about to refuse completely, her fiercely independent streak getting the best of her, not wanting to be beholden or bought. Then she thought about it more fully and understood that his gesture was not meant in that way at all.

"It's where you work and I would like to contribute something on your behalf … as your partner. Besides, some of the money does go to a worthy charity. Please let me do something nice for you, Louisa." He mentioned a sum.

"That's very generous. Are you sure?"

"Yes. Is there something you would like to bid on in that range? Or is that amount inadequate?"

If Martin was going to be considerate enough to offer her something she really wanted but would never purchase for herself, it was time that she showed some appreciation for his generousity and thoughtfulness.

"No, it's more than enough. There's a day for two at a posh Kensington spa. Lunch included and some treatments. It sounds wonderful but far too extravagant for my budget. I have to confess that I would fancy a treat just now, a bit of pampering. I wouldn't spend that kind of money on myself. Next time Lindsay's in town I could take her as my guest. I owe her for some very wise advice she gave me."

"Bid on it then, whatever the cost." He proceeded to give her a short lecture on the type of infections she could contract from nail salons where hygiene was improperly maintained. Then he wished her luck with the Silent Auction and rung off, feeling a sense of satisfaction that he had actually done something, however small, to make her happy.

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This story continues next weekend …


	80. Chapter 80

Chapter Eighty

"We can finish up early tonight, Martin. Only half a session, if you like. I'll send my report to your staff psychologist and your department head in the morning. To summarize, in my professional opinion there are no impediments whatsoever to your leading a surgical team next Monday morning. Congratulations. You've done very well."

"Thank you. I thought in the beginning that these therapy sessions and you were complete rubbish. The results would indicate otherwise."

Martin wondered for a moment what his father would have made of the course of cognitive behavioural therapy and psychotherapy which his son had undertaken. Martin had a brief flashback to Christmas break when he was eight years old. He was home for the holidays and ashamedly trying to explain to his father that he was being bullied at school by a group of eleven year olds. He had stuttered, stammered and blushed his way through the painful admission. Hoping to hear words of sympathy, support and reassurance from his father, the young boy waited silently for some much needed advice. Christopher Ellingham had instead admonished and berated Martin, telling him to "pick up his socks", "get on with it" and to "stop being such a wretched little baby". Dr. Travers' words jolted Martin back to the present.

"It was you who did all the work, Martin. I was simply your guide, giving you the tools to help yourself. Nonetheless you must continue to practice all of your visualizations and relaxation exercises between now and Monday. We'll speak briefly on Wednesday evening. If all goes well, I think we can begin to cut back our sessions from twice a month to monthly. The staff psychologist will also continue to monitor you. If there is nothing else tonight, I'll bid you good evening and sign off – "

"There is."

"There is what?"

"Another thing to discuss."

"Oh? By all means. There's still a half hour left. I just assumed wrongly. Never assume, I continually remind myself and there, I've gone and made the mistake again. Please go ahead."

Martin cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. "It's about Louisa."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Travers sat listening quietly, occasionally interjecting with a question or seeking a clarification, while Martin recounted the events of the past few weeks, beginning with the week in Port Wenn and concluding with the painful discussions in Liverpool ten days ago.

Martin finished his summary. "As you must understand, Dr. Travers, the prognosis for this relationship is abysmal."

"That's your professional assessment, is it?"

"Yes. Definitely. The facts certainly lead me to that inevitable conclusion. If the relationship were a patient, I'd pronounce it close to death. A 'do not resuscitate" order would be the kindest thing. I'm never going to make Louisa happy. The decent course of action would be to let the patient go. No more heroic measures."

"Leaving logic, common sense and decency aside for the moment, would you like to see the patient revived and restored to good health if that was possible?"

"Indeed but there appear to be no prescriptions, surgical interventions or treatments available to do that."

"Would you allow me to put a bit of a different spin on things? A somewhat alternative interpretation to yours, from my own perspective as your therapist."

"Go ahead. Nonetheless I doubt even you could provide any great insights at this point."

"Life has presented you with a great gift, Martin."

"What! Please don't make this out to be all sunshine and lollipops. Trite platitudes are quite inappropriate. I'd say the situation is pretty dire."

"Hear me out anyway. Be tolerant and open to suggestions. Isn't that why you chose to bring up the matter after we had concluded the main purpose for tonight's session? To seek some advice?"

"Fine. Life is giving me a gift? Whenever has it done that? Most of the time I'd wager that Life has given me a sharp punch in the gut and a swift kick to the solar plexus."

"No doubt it has often felt that way to you. However I have always believed that life gives all of us a number of gifts. Sometimes they come in the form of character traits – in your case that would be great intelligence and analytical abilities, for instance. Or skills. Didn't you once tell me that you have saved many lives and limbs? Don't people say that you have 'golden hands'? Sometimes Life's gifts are opportunities or bits of luck. It's up to each person to decide whether and how they will use their gifts or if they will squander them. Many do, squander them, that is. Anyway, in your particular and present case I believe that Life has given you a wonderful opportunity."

"A wonderful opportunity? To what? Break up with the woman whom I intended to spend the rest of my life with? That's rich."

"No. Unless that is what you wish to do. What I mean is that life has presented you with two excellent choices."

"This should be fascinating," Martin said sarcastically. "Do proceed with your psychological tricks." In spite of his attitude, he was listening intently and Dr. Travers knew it.

"Choice number one: You have worked hard to conquer your haemophobia and return to your chosen profession. As a result you have opportunities to perform surgery, teach, conduct research and publish again. If things go as indicated, you could be on your way back to a top surgical consultancy again in London again."

"I know all that." Martin's impatience bubbled to the surface but Dr. Travers would not be rushed. He was used to Martin's behaviours.

"Choice number two: You have worked hard to understand yourself by undergoing a challenging course of psychotherapy and have learned how better to comprehend and communicate with your partner. All of this hard work has lead to the happy outcome of a successful reconciliation with the woman you have stated, on numerous occasions, that you wish to spend the rest of your life with."

"On both fronts your hard work and perseverance have paid off, Martin. Congratulations. Life has indeed presented you with a great gift: you can return to your previous life as a prominent London surgeon or, marry Louisa, start a family and move to rural Cornwall and become a GP once more. I'd say that you are at a crossroads, yes, but one that most people would envy."

"What if I don't like either of those choices?"

"Why not?"

"Each choice only offers me a part of what I want."

Dr. Travers was inwardly pleased. Martin initially tended to perceive situations and people in extremes. He was making progress if he was trying to construct a more middle of the road solution. "Hmm. That makes things a little more challenging for you. You could always attempt to affect a compromise. Life does not have to be one of absolutes and extremes. You would need to find some middle ground that would still make you and Louisa happy."

"If you were in my position, what do you think you would do?"

"Are you asking me whether I think you should choose Door Number One or Door Number Two or craft your own Door Number Three?"

"Yes."

"I can't tell you what to do."

"Why not? You get paid enough to sit here and pontificate to your patients." When Martin was really troubled about something, he lashed out.

Dr. Travers wisely ignored the insult and made light of it. "True enough. I am lucky to have spent my career just sitting and chatting with folks." He laughed at the oversimplification. "Seriously though, I cannot tell you what to do. Only you know what you really want, need and could live with. No one else can provide you with a suitable answer. What I can do is give you an exercise that might help you more fully explore and determine what it is you do want."

"Another bloody exercise?" Psychotherapy seemed to consist of endless mind games.

"Quite. Game to try it?"

"Why not? Nothing to lose beyond the things most dear to me."

Martin scoffed as Dr. Travers explained the instructions to him. "You can't be serious! Sit there and imagine my future? I'm hardly credited for having a fulsome imagination. Creativity isn't my strong suit, as you are no doubt well aware."

"Don't imagine what you want to happen. Take the facts as you currently know them to be and as accurately as possible try to extrapolate what your future five years from now might look like. Plug in all the information you currently have. See how you think it would all play out according to choice number one."

"Then do I do the same thing with choice number two?"

"No need. You've already done that, haven't you? Isn't that why you believe your relationship with Louisa is in turmoil? Because you already are convinced that you can quite clearly see five years into the future in choice number two and you don't like what you see. If you hadn't already constructed that scenario in your head in a way that you currently perceive to be accurate, you would not be sitting here trying to decide between two choices."

"I see your point."

"Good. To review, pick a time when you won't be disturbed. I would recommend waiting until sometime later next week after your surgical debut or the weekend after this one when you can clear your mind of all distractions and pressures. This exercise will require your full and uninterrupted concentration. Put your feet up, turn off your mobile and close your eyes. Visualize your personal and professional life five years from now."

Dr. Travers sternly pointed at finger at the computer screen. "Remember that whatever you imagine, it doesn't portend what the future will be. It's just your current perceptions of what might be. You may make thousands of decisions in the next five years that could vastly alter and change that outcome."

"Monitor your feelings; evaluate how you feel about the images that your brain is concocting. You needn't tell anyone what the results are. You're not accountable to anyone. However if you feel you wish to discuss the results with me at our next session then I am happy to do so."

"Right."

"Excellent. Oh – one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Once you've visualized yourself five years into the future, then picture yourself out shopping in central London on a nice Spring weekend afternoon and – "

"Get on with it."

"While you are out shopping - you bump into Louisa at the food court, waiting for her husband - and their child."

"What!"

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This story continues next weekend …


	81. Chapter 81

Chapter Eighty One

On Friday evening Martin did not arrive at his flat until nearly nine o'clock, having eaten an early dinner alone at the hospital cafeteria and then run some errands. In truth, he was avoiding returning to the silence and solitude he normally craved after an arduous week of work. It was a strange feeling for him and had crept up insidiously on Friday, building ever increasingly throughout the day whenever he contemplated his weekend.

He knew he was justifiably keyed up with nervous energy; in three days he would lead his first surgical team in five years. However the operation they had selected for him was uncomplicated and familiar. He felt his technique was perfected, having logged plenty of preparatory hours over the past month. Psychologically he had been analyzed and evaluated over the past two weeks until he thought he could stand no more: Dr. Travers, his staff psychologist, his department chief, even human resources and the legal department, all had taken great pains to assess his readiness. No one wanted him to fail, for his own sake as much as for the patient.

Dr. Travers had told him to expect to experience some degree of anticipatory anxiety over the weekend. It was completely normal, given all that Martin had been through and considering what a huge step this was in the resurrection of his surgical career. However Martin understood that his disquiet had a secondary and even more distressing root cause; a portion of his listlessness could be attributed to more than pre-performance jitters. He was missing Louisa. Immensely.

Here was a man who craved solitude, yearned for absolute privacy, prided himself on an almost monastic self-sufficiency. He had spent his adult life largely oblivious to his own peculiar state of loneliness and his self-imposed barriers of isolation. And yet, during these past two weeks without Louisa, he had felt himself succumbing to sustained and insidious pangs of despondency. They had crept upon him when he least expected, causing stirrings that were slow to abate, memories that were hard to tamp down: the supple warmth of her hand when it glided into his, the texture and sensation of her full lips as they pressed upon his, the pronounced West Country burr in her voice whenever she got excited.

Given the normal pattern of their relationship's current reincarnation, she would have been spending this weekend visiting him. He would have already picked her up at the train station or she would have been waiting for him when he came home, that gorgeous smile of hers lighting him from within. There was the rub; he dreaded returning to his empty flat because she would not be there, might not ever be there again. He was tempted to start the visualization exercises that Dr. Travers had assigned him two nights previously but realized it would be better to wait until next weekend when his mind was more lucid, less jumbled and more objective.

He resolved to telephone Louisa, just for a minute, just to say hello and just to be reassured by hearing the resonance and cadence of her voice. Her voice mail answered. Of course, she must be out enjoying herself on a Friday night in London. He did not leave a message, not wanting to bother her.

Twenty minutes later his mobile rang.

"Martin." That breathlessness was there, the way it always was. "I just saw that your number had popped up on my mobile."

"I didn't mean to disturb you. I can call you back tomorrow. I only wanted to say hello. We haven't spoken since last Sunday and … um … I just wanted to … be in touch."

"No, no. Now is fine. Just fine. I was in the basement picking up my clothes from the dryer. This flat may be a bit pricey but I must say that I enjoy having to share the laundry facilities with only two other sets of tenants rather than with an entire building. Anyway, the weekend's off to a good start; all my laundry's done and no work to bring home from the school. My only Friday afternoon class was cancelled because the pupils were off on a field trip. The Head let me go home early; time off for good behaviour after all the extra work I put in for the Silent Auction."

Um … good." Maybe he shouldn't have called; perhaps he was spoiling what was turning out to be a rare relaxing weekend for her. A small pause ensued. He considered whether the right thing to do would be to say goodbye and ring off.

"Yea. How are things with you?"

"Fine. Okay." How many professionals had asked him that same question this week? Somehow when she asked, it didn't feel quite so intrusive.

"I thought about calling you during the week but I knew how busy you were preparing for Monday. I was going to call you tomorrow to wish you luck."

"That was thoughtful. Thank you. … How is school?"

"Alright. The Gala was a huge financial success, raising more money than last year. The children's cancer centre is going to get a fat cheque so I'm very pleased. Thank you again for my present. I'm going to thoroughly enjoy that Spa Day and to treating Lindsay."

"Good." The pause was longer this time. He debated what to say.

"Martin, are you okay? Truly?"

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be? Why do you ask?" He hadn't called to burden her.

"Nothing, it's just that you sound slightly more monosyllabic than usual. Are you feeling a tad jittery about Monday?"

He tried to sound nonchalant but she had read his thoughts or perhaps just stated the obvious. Either way he welcomed the question. "Dr. Travers said it was to be expected. A completely rational reaction, just anticipatory anxiety."

"Sounds perfectly normal. I always get it the first day of the school year, particularly when I was Head Teacher. You know, wondering about the new pupils and the new parents and what they would be like once they started poking around. One never knows what's going to happen."

"Right."

"At this point I would guess that you have completely prepared yourself."

"I expect so. I've been cleared by a whole battery of professionals. I've assisted at this particular operation countless times and I've worked with this surgical team on numerous occasions. I've studied DVDs of the techniques utilized and practiced my visualization and relaxation exercises. I brought home the DVDs to review over the weekend if I feel the need."

"Sounds like you're very prepared. Good for you. I'd have expected nothing less."

"Travers says I should try to … relax … over the weekend. Try to take my mind off of Monday morning."

Louisa let out a small involuntary laugh in spite of herself, understanding that asking Martin to relax was akin to jabbing him with needles; it would only produce an augmented uncomfortable sensation. "So then, given that wise advice from a mental health expert, what do you have planned for yourself over the next two days?"

"Er … nothing. Perhaps I'll review the DVDs again, maybe read a journal."

"Hmm … that doesn't sound like what the doctor ordered and you know what a stickler you are for having patients follow doctor's orders. I should think that you will ignore his advice and probably pace the floors instead."

She had hit it on the head. He marvelled at how well she had come to know his habits. "Quite possibly. I can't seem to shake this restlessness," he admitted reluctantly. He sounded forlorn.

"Look … would you like some company? Would you like me to come up tomorrow and stay overnight? Would that help in any way?"

"Louisa, that's not why I called. It's not necessary for you to do that for me, especially when you have a quiet weekend planned."

"I have a few quick errands to run in the morning but I could easily manage an afternoon train. I've nothing pressing this weekend apart from cleaning the flat and that's a chore I'm happy to put off for another day."

"No. It's not fair to you." He wasn't going to ruin her weekend, no matter how desirable it was to see her, to be soothed by her presence.

"Martin, I wouldn't offer unless I wanted to. Honestly."

"What about our agreement not to see one another for awhile? It's only been two weeks and neither of us appears to have come up with any solutions yet."

"Forget the agreement for now. Let's brush all of that aside for this one weekend. Let's take a hiatus from our hiatus. We won't talk about anything but the present. Beyond anything else we are friends, right? Wasn't that what we became last summer? Wasn't that what it was all about? Well … friends help friends, regardless of the circumstances. If my being with you for part of this weekend is going to play a part in making you feel better then I am happy to help. We can have a quiet dinner; maybe go for a walk if the weather stays mild."

"If it isn't too much trouble for you … I'd like that. Seeing you."

She was very pleased. "Right then."

He could hear her clicking away at her laptop.

"Yea. There's still a seat available on the 2:07 train tomorrow afternoon. It arrives in Liverpool at 4:15. That okay?

"Fine."

"Good. There's still space on the mid-afternoon train to Euston on Sunday. Okay?"

"That would be good. But please let me pay for your taxis to and from Euston station. It's a miserable, wet weekend in London. I don't want you catching cold on my account."

"It's not necessary but if it would make you feel better, then yes. Thank you."

"Right. See you tomorrow then?"

"Great. Try to get some sleep tonight. Call me if you need, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Bye."

"Louisa – "

"Yes, Martin?"

"I just wanted to say … thank you. I'm looking forward to it."

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This story continues next weekend …


	82. Chapter 82

Chapter Eighty Two

**Author's Note: Today marks the two year anniversary of "Resolutions". Initially the author figured it would take two months and twenty chapters to forge a resolution. Martin and Louisa disagreed with me and here we are these many months later. Chapter Eighty Two and Chapter Eighty Three (next week) are happy chapters. They are intended as a bit of a celebration of this milestone and as a thank you to readers new and old for continuing to read this story. So curl up with a celebratory glass of champagne and enjoy …**

Positioned not far from the entrance to the arrivals gate at the Liverpool train station, Martin watched Louisa as she slowly came fully into view up the escalator stairs. As soon as her waves of thick chestnut hair and gorgeous face appeared, he was hit with the sensation that many people experience when a cherished loved one returns safely to them after a journey: excitement, relief, comfort, joy and the feeling of having retrieved something that was gone, albeit temporarily.

So suddenly and in such a torrent did these responses wash over him, that his defence mechanisms had insufficient time to mentally close his floodgates against the rush. Rather, he experienced the emotions full force and unabated. In that instant, as Louisa stepped off of the top step, swiveled her head to locate and move towards him, Martin came to comprehend what an integral and important person she was to his life. This solitary and taciturn man realized that without her presence in his life, nothing felt quite the same. It was she who painted the tinges of colour, the hues, tints and tones into his monochromatic black and white existence. That a life lived without her or a life lived together but apart, would never, ultimately, be nearly so satisfying.

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As soon as Louisa saw Martin when she stepped off the escalator, she knew instantly that she had done the right thing by offering to visit this weekend. Familiar as she was with his body language, she recognized all the physical signs of his tension: the high set of his shoulders, the clenched fists, the tightness around his eyes and jaw, the furrows etched deeply in his forehead. She understood immediately just how much pressure he was exerting upon himself to excel. He was nothing if not a perfectionist; much as he abhorred incompetence in others, he supremely loathed it in himself. Knowing all of this, she resolved to keep their twenty three hours together as light, calm and cheerful as possible and to draw him out of himself as only she knew how.

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Just knowing that Louisa was coming had brightened Martin's mood considerably. That came as a complete surprise; he had utterly underestimated the effect that her two week absence would have upon him. He felt the throes of his loneliness receding. The anticipatory anxiety related to Monday morning still remained but waned in magnitude in light of something positive to focus upon.

He had spent the remainder of Friday evening cleaning the flat and doing his laundry. He put fresh linen on the bed and laid out new towels for Louisa. Even these simple and mundane household chores in preparation for her arrival, comforted him and the physical exertions capping off a stressful week, guaranteed him a good night's rest. Saturday morning found him diligently shopping for the ingredients necessary to cook her favourite meal.

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The fact that she and Martin were putting the finishing touches on her favourite dinner was not lost on Louisa. Martin had meticulously put together most of the main course prior to her arrival. What was left was assembling the salad, chopping and boiling the vegetables and washing the dishes. They chatted sporadically while they worked. Twice as they stood side by side in the small corridor kitchen, she caught him staring directly but fleetingly at her. In response to the third time, she flashed him a wide smile and he had returned the gesture with a more restrained version of his own.

Over dinner he was content to listen to her, as he often did, as she regaled him with light subjects and humourous anecdotes from the Tarlington Hall Gala. He frowned when she told him that several men, each sporting shiny gold wedding bands, had offered to bid high on one of the Silent Auctions' star items, a romantic weekend for two at a five star hotel in the Cotswolds, if she would be their date. Louisa laughed as she recounted the story to Martin, saying if they had only known that she snored and heavily at that, they might well have rescinded their propositions.

Martin, being Martin, took her story in its most literal sense and agreed that indeed her snoring was often loud enough to disrupt the slumber of any bed companion. However a disrupted REM phase would be a small price for any man to pay in order to spend one weekend with such a beautiful and intelligent woman. This was extraordinary and uncharacteristic behaviour for him. Considering Martin's typical paucity for paying her compliments, she was highly flattered and her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

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Instead of Martin's usual dessert fare of cheese and apple or fruit salad, he surprised her again. He had been this morning to the little bakery downtown that she liked and had visited on several occasions. He had purchased a small marble cheesecake covered in a dark chocolate and Grand Marnier drizzle. He cut her a large slice and then did the unthinkable, cutting himself a wafer thin sliver so as not to appear dismissive or derogatory of her enjoyment, instead allowing himself ever so slightly to participate in it. Amazing Louisa even more was the fact that no lecture ensued regarding the dangers of saturated fats, calories, white flour and sugar.

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After the washing up, she suggested she watch the telly allowing Martin to flee to the sanctity of his tiny study to read a medical journal. This was their usual Saturday night fare. Tonight he astonished her by saying he could finish his reading tomorrow following her departure. He asserted that he was content to watch whatever she wanted and came to sit close beside her on the sofa. After she wisely opted for an old World War Two movie that she thought they both might enjoy, he watched the opening credits as if transfixed by the screen while slowly and casually manoeuvring his arm into position around her shoulders.

Louisa tried to downplay the urge to stare at him, kept her eyes on the screen and as if it was the most natural thing in the world, snuggled her body close into his. Outwardly she made no more of it than that. But there were several moments afterwards when she quite forgot what was happening in the action thriller on the telly, being more enthralled by the live action taking place on the sofa, her attention having been diverted by the warmth and weight of his hand and arm as they remained wrapped around her.

Neither of their movements was intended nor interpreted as a prelude to sex; that was not what either of them wanted nor required from this day and night together. They simply sought to luxuriate in being together again, to savour the comfort, security and serenity it could provide; to be a couple united and solidified. There was no talk of the future, of where and how they would live. Those questions remained to be answered in the days to come. For now they would focus solely and exclusively on the present and the joy it brought them.

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This story continues …


	83. Chapter 83

Chapter Eighty Three

After the movie finished, Louisa decided to take a bath and go to bed. She sensed that Martin needed some time to himself and she wanted him to have it. She had felt his restlessness growing during the movie despite the fact that he had unconvincingly professed the plot to be moderately interesting. His arm had remained firmly and determinedly draped over her shoulders throughout the majority of the one hundred and twenty minutes. She suspected that his true motivation for doing so was to spend more time with her and to telegraph how much he appreciated her presence.

As she soaked in Martin's bathtub, she took stock of his actions. She was not so naïve or idealistic as to believe or delude herself into thinking that he had experienced some type of sudden personality conversion. A slice of cheesecake, a fish entrée, an unsolicited compliment and an evening spent cuddling on the sofa, were hardly indications of a major behavioural modification. Still, there was a perceptible shift in his attitude and approach towards her.

She could sense some deep, inner struggle brewing within him and she surmised rightly that it had everything to do with her and their future. But she would not press him for information this weekend nor would she investigate or ascribe motives for today's alterations. That was not the objective of this visit. Martin clearly had things of his own to resolve first and she felt that only when he was good and ready would he include her in the conversation he was currently having with himself.

She reached for the facecloth beside the tub, Martin having forbidden the use of sponges in the bath due to their propensity for housing bacteria. She slowly dipped the thick terrycloth square into the steamy, soapy water. Languorously spreading the soothing heat over her tired shoulders and back, she considered what she felt. It took her several minutes of contemplation to analyze the changes in Martin's approach to her.

She knew already and had for some time that he profoundly loved her; that his appreciation of her was growing incrementally. So what then was it? Why did he seem different today? She swished her open palm through the warm water while she contemplated, making small circles and tiny ripples in the large tub. A small but contented grin formed on her lips as she put her finger on the answer: she felt cherished.

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By the time Martin finished his visualization and relaxation exercises, Louisa was asleep. He took his pajamas into the bathroom so as not to wake her while he changed. When finished with his abolutions, he moved carefully past the bed to his closet, doing his best to stay silent while he hung up his suit. As he shut the closet door, the hinges squeaked causing Louisa to stir and shift slightly onto her side.

Martin stopped to watch her and found himself riveted. In repose those classic features were tranquil and elegant. The thick chestnut hair fanned out across the pillow, one creamy skinned shoulder was exposed, showing just a hint of the blue spaghetti strap of her pajama tank top above the olive bed sheet. Martin followed with his eyes the contours of her body, the slight bump of her hip and the length of one long and lithe leg under the duvet.

Instinctively he bent down on his haunches beside the bed to touch her, allowing the back of his index finger to softly and leisurely caress her cheek from the edge of her nose across to her jaw line. Louisa emitted a small, contented moan. In that instant he grasped more fully what she had done by coming up to Liverpool today to support him. She must have been cognizant of the fact that if he did a proper job on Monday morning he would be headed upwards once more on the career ladder, one rung closer to reaching a Chief's position again in London. Monday would be a turning point, a watershed moment.

And none of that success would be in Louisa's best interests, taking him ever further away from her goal of turning him again into a rural GP. Not once since last August had she mentioned his fleeting promise that he would consider returning as Port Wenn's GP if she was decidedly and emphatically against every other alternative. She had made no attempt to hold him to his word. She understood that forcing or pressuring him into a change he did not want, was not a fair resolution.

Yet unselfishly, she had made this trip nonetheless, ensuring that he stayed relaxed, confidant and at ease, making no demands upon him, never hinting at their increasingly divergent paths. Martin thought it extraordinary that she could do all of this knowing that it would most certainly impinge upon, if not utterly jeopardize, her own future happiness with him. What was the expression people used to describe such situations? She was busily sawing off the branch upon which she was sitting.

This had not been the first instance either that she had unselfishly placed his needs ahead of her own unmet ones. Granted, in this situation he felt reasonably confidant of the outcome on Monday. There was no full-blown crisis this time; it had been the cumulative effect of his anxiety coupled with missing her that had created the modest degree of inner tumult on Friday. But last October, when she had rushed unbidden to Liverpool because she had sensed that he was in the grasp of utter panic, then it had truly been serious and she had known to come. Over the years she had developed an instinctive ability to detect when he was emotionally amiss. She had always striven to stabilize, if not rectify, the situation to the best of her ability, even when it was to her detriment.

It struck him that in the balance of things, buying her a small marble cheesecake, cooking her favourite fish entrée and a couple of hours spent nestled together on a couch watching an old movie, were paltry and miserly expressions of his gratitude for all that she had done for him. For someone who had, and continued to erase the shadows from his life; for this person who brought the brightness, iridescence and vividness to his previously wan and sallow existence; she deserved much, much more from him than what he had been offering.

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Philosophers, playwrights and poets have long written about loss and regret; how sometimes we do not realize how much we loved or took for granted a special person until they have permanently departed from our lives. In effect, we do not always know what we have got until after it is gone. However, the wisest amongst us do realize it before it is too late; the potential for future loneliness serves as a catalyst for action and they do something to prevent the loss.

Twenty three hours is not that much time for two people to spend together. In this case it was more than enough to cause a sea change, a course correction navigating away from the path of turbulent and choppy waters. The two rowers began to work in tandem, dipping their oars together in unison, each mutual stroke propelling their tiny craft forwards, making swift time towards a safe harbour.

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End of Part 8


	84. Chapter 84

Chapter Eighty Four

(Part Nine of Resolutions)

**Author's Note: In celebration and in advance of Series 6 of the Doc Martin television series debuting shortly in the United Kingdom, Part Nine of this story will unfold over the next week.**

She guessed that she had checked her Smartphone for emails at least six times this morning. At least that number considering that she had pulled it out surreptitously from her pocket at each break between classes and at recess. Now it being lunchtime, Louisa found herself monitoring the screen every few minutes, anxiously waiting for the symbol to appear indicating that she had fresh mail.

It wasn't that she was worried, exactly. Martin had seemed fine when she had left him at three o'clock yesterday afternoon. Certainly he was a calmer, less tense man than he had been when she had stepped off that escalator twenty-three hours earlier. It was just that this operation had taken on an importance all of its own. If he balked at the last minute and could not muster the courage to go through with it, or experienced symptoms of haemophobia part way along then it would not bode well for his surgical career. She seriously doubted whether either doomsday scenario produced by her apprehensive imagination would come to fruition. She desperately wanted him to succeed for his own sake because if he did not, knowing Martin, he would not be able to live easily with the self-induced failure and perceived humiliation.

But, she reassured herself for at least the eleventh time today, he had seemed fine when she had left him yesterday. Their Sunday had been a quiet one with few demands placed on or by either of them. A leisurely breakfast, a walk in the nearby park made more pleasant because of the drier and milder warm front that had breezed in overnight, a quick lunch at a restaurant near the train station. She had asked him only once, over their boiled eggs and toast, whether he wanted to talk about Monday morning. He had immediately declined, saying that all was in hand. As an afterthought he had gruffly added that her presence was appreciated and had been instrumental to maintaining his present state of ease. That single statement and acknowledgement had been enough to satisfy and appease her.

As she now took a final sip from her fruit juice carton, it occurred to Louisa that she hadn't the faintest idea of how long it took a surgeon to prep, scrub, operate and complete the post-op administrations. Martin hadn't told her what time the operation was scheduled for, only that it was scheduled for the morning roster. He had said that he wouldn't be able to email her until he had changed into his suit and was back in his office to eat his lunch. But he had been fine yesterday when she had left him so there was really nothing to worry about, was there?

She stared down at the remnants of her partially eaten banana and decided to bin it. The two untouched chocolate digestive biscuits she frugally put back into her lunch bag for tomorrow. The butterflies in her gut wouldn't allow for the swallowing of any more food at this meal. A colleague interrupted her ruminations over the next few minutes, wanting to know about the latest progress of an errant pupil. After Louisa returned from binning the banana and sandwich crusts, her stomach gave a lurch when she noticed the number one had appeared in a red circle beside the mail icon on her Smartphone.

Could this incoming mail be from Martin? She checked the time: 12:51 p.m. It could be. On the other hand it could just be a piece of unsolicited junk attempting to sell her something she did not need. She pushed on the icon and waited nervously for the email to appear on the screen. She chewed on her lip. It was indeed from Martin. She intoned a silent prayer for good news before she read his terse communication.

Louisa,

Just returned to my office. Operation went according to plan. Both patient and surgeon are doing well. Telephone you tonight.

Martin

Louisa exhaled the breath she felt like she had been holding since eight o'clock this morning. Finally she whispered a silent thank you to whatever celestial entity or Fate that had been watching over him. She had just enough time to create a quick response before she had to dash off to teach history to Year Four. Without thinking and with a spontaneous gesture borne of relief and delight, she typed quickly:

Martin Darling,

Congratulations! I am so proud of you. Call me anytime tonight.

All my love,

Louisa

As soon as she had pressed the "send" button she agonized over whether she should have worded the email differently. It was too late now to attempt a retraction or a rewrite as the missive soared across the internet. Unabashed, unrestrained emotion was something Martin avoided and rebuffed as much as possible. Surely he would be annoyed and embarrassed by her gushing, freely flowing sentiment?

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Part Nine continues shortly …


	85. Chapter 85

Chapter Eighty Five

The operation, the prep and the aftermath had transpired even more successfully than he had hoped. The patient was in recovery, shortly would be transferred back to her room and would be able to go home tomorrow, barring complications. Despite the fact that this had not been major surgery, it certainly had felt like it to Martin. He had been in charge, the one to direct the team, the one to wield the scalpel. He was all too aware of the ramifications if he had failed and he was all too cognizant of his professional failings. This knowledge had shaken his usually high level of belief in his skills; it had rattled his arrogance and rocked his conceit to its core. Had he been asked for his insight, Dr. Travers would have pointed out that Martin was experiencing a moment of humility.

Martin was a novice at humility; this experience today and the weeks leading up to it had been unsettling but instructive. Celebrated surgical consultant, winner of the gold medal at university, recipient of several prizes at medical school that he was, he too could have excruciating moments of self-doubt. As the five long years imprisoned by haemophobia had proven, he was as vulnerable to human frailties as the next person. It might just make him pause a moment before he next harshly, devastatingly and unsympathetically criticized someone's perceived incompetence. Criticize and correct he still would but perhaps it might be tempered with the slightest dose of empathy and a modicum of understanding.

From the outside none of these ruminations and fears would have been apparent to his professional colleagues at the Royal Liverpool. Louisa knew it though, had cause to know it this weekend and that dire weekend last October and times in between. That awareness had induced her to come to Liverpool to support him. He hated having his vulnerabilities exposed to anyone; vulnerabilities were what got you bullied in prep school and beyond. Give people an opportunity to ferret out your weaknesses and they will mercilessly use them like a sword to shred your self-esteem. He had never known Louisa to use his weaknesses against him nor throw them back in his face. For that reason he had learned, over time and gradually, to place his trust in her.

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Yes, today had gone much smoother than he had hoped. Now, sitting quietly in his office, eating his lunch, he reflected on why this was so. In retrospect he suspected that there had been more at play than his own brilliance at performing a relatively simple operation that any junior consultant could have done well. The team had run like clockwork; they were more than usually attentive to his barked orders and quiet otherwise. The normal workaday operating room chatter and clatter was surprisingly non-existent. Everyone had done exactly as he had asked, without question and without delay.

Even the chilled bottled water that he normally had to request twice and thrice to be waiting for him once he left the theatre, was waiting for him today and was cooled, instead of the usual lukewarm unpleasantness. He had also thought it strange that he was the only person in the men's dressing room while he had changed into his surgical clothing. It only occurred to him now that perhaps everyone was granting him five minutes alone in order to collect himself, gather his thoughts or practice his deep breathing exercises.

The Chief of Vascular had stopped by only minutes ago to subtly offer his congratulations by way of informing Martin that henceforth he was on the roster to lead a team and he would be given progressively more complicated assignments commensurate with his high level of skills. The Chief of Vascular rarely stopped by Martin's office on a social call, given Martin's reclusive nature and abhorrence of non-essential personal interactions. Today the Chief had actually sat in a chair and prattled on for five minutes about the late January weather and the waning quality of food in the staff cafeteria.

It seemed to Martin, given this overwhelming preponderance of evidence, that indeed all of what had transpired today were not quite the coincidences he had originally surmised. Just possibly, his colleagues had greased the way for him, easing what was a morning full of apprehension and trepidation. Martin wasn't one for professional camaraderie but today he realized and appreciated what his colleagues had done. The entire experience had indeed been made less stressful for him because of their actions. Not that he would say that aloud or overtly thank them but he would remember it nonetheless.

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When Martin checked his email a few minutes later, he was caught off guard by the excessive emotionality exhibited in Louisa's note. Yet here in the privacy of his own office, where no one could see him, he did not resist the pleasure that it evoked in him. To have someone rooting for him, in his corner, was a new sensation for him. To not go through every life experience solely reliant only upon himself was both a relief and far less exhausting. Not that others hadn't tried to help; he either had been unaware of their efforts or had shunned their offers. For a moment he shared in Louisa's elation at his triumph over what had once seemed like unvanquishable demons. He basked in the raw effusiveness and sheer depth of her feelings for him; that there was actually someone out there in this oft time's inhospitable world who cared unfailingly about his welfare.

These brief thoughts were the full amount of the joy he would measure out and allot for himself. No need to be self-indulgent; time to get back to work. But a question floated unobstructed to the surface of his conscious mind: Would today's success have been possible without Louisa's support? He would have liked to think so but it would have been utter dishonesty to believe it. Humility would not allow Martin to delude himself. Until she had come along, his typical response to his own pain and self-doubts had been to draw in on himself and shut out the world. Now it was different. When he had needed it most, Louisa had scooped up the tatters of his self-confidence and helped mend them into place again.

He could not imagine himself sending a note today to his smug and scolding father relaying the good news of his prodigal son's eventual return to surgery. Naturally he would tell Joan when next he spoke to her but Ellinghams did not engage in congratulatory backslapping. It would embarrass them both.

It had been an extraordinary and singular gesture for him to send a note to anyone at all after such a stressful experience. For many years now he had not felt the desire to share his celebrations, tribulations or sorrows with any human being. Instead today the first thing Martin had done, the only thing he had wanted to do after returning to his office, was to contact Louisa.

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Part Nine continues soon …


	86. Chapter 86

Chapter Eighty Six

On a purely scientific level Martin viewed this exercise with equal and heaping amounts of disdain and skepticism. Fantasizing about the future, there was absolutely no basis in fact for that. He could hardly be accused of being a fantasist. On a purely personal level this exercise filled him with apprehension. It was daunting to envision a future without Louisa. He knew that and knew that Dr. Travers also knew that, which is exactly why he must go through with the exercise tonight. He would prove Dr. Travers wrong. He was dead sure of it.

Lack of scientific data to the contrary, Martin also understood that, skeptical or not, his mind had no trouble whatsoever spending weeks visualizing a disastrous and calamitous future living and working in Port Wenn, saddled with an unruly brood of children and perpetually annoying neighbours. As Dr. Travers had pointed out to him in their last session, if Martin could so easily envision that particular future five years hence, then what psychological defence was preventing him from conjuring up his interpretation of this other, Louiseless, option?

Best to get it over with as soon as possible. Besides, what else did he have to do on a snowy Saturday night in Liverpool? Buoyed by the success of performing his first surgical operation in over five years this past Monday, the rest of the week had gone easily. Travers had been pleased, Louisa had been pleased, the legal department at the Royal Liverpool had been pleased. Now was the time to complete this silly exercise and to move on.

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Having already hung up his suit jacket, Martin sat down on the reclining leather chair, loosened his tie, removed his black patent leather shoes, put his socked feet up on the leather ottoman, closed his eyes and slowly inhaled and exhaled several deep breaths. He eventually made his mind go blank and then reluctantly envisioned his future of choice.

What he saw filled him with a great sense of satisfaction. The two bedroom flat, on the sixth floor of a recently purpose-built London condominium tower, was painted a gleaming diamond white throughout. The flat was fastidiously neat and meticulously ordered; nothing was out of place. His mind took a long, leisurely walk to survey each room.

The small kitchen with its gleaming stainless steel appliances was uncluttered. The counters were partially covered with the necessities of solo living. The refrigerator and pantry shelves were well stocked but not to excess, with healthy, nutritious foods. Yes, there were the few indulgences: the white truffle extra virgin olive oil picked up on a recent visit to Modena, the gleaming precision knife set from Japan, the expensively flavoured balsamic vinaigrette. There was nothing however that could be labeled as decadent or hedonistic. Wherever possible items were placed according to food group or cooking utility: sauces were lined up next to similar type sauces, spice bottles were alphabetically ordered and labeled as to date of purchase for maximum freshness retention. On not one of those shelves did a single can, bottle, package or bag drip or leak. Louisa's disordered kitchens in Port Wenn and London had never looked so good. Martin quickly banished that last thought from his head; this part of the exercise had nothing to do with her.

The living room and bedroom were functional and sparsely furnished. Because no entertaining ever took place in either room, little attention had been paid to anything but the contemplated comforts of the flat owner. A compact, expensive sound system and flat screen television adorned one wall. Several paintings including those purchased during his Cornwall days hung on the other wall, sole reminders of his life on the Cornish coast. They were kept less as souvenirs and more, as he now rationalized to a mind that refused to be reminded of Port Wenn, because of the magnificently deft way the painters had managed to capture the essence and the beauty of the Cornish light as it reflected off the north coast sea.

The second bedroom had been converted into a study. It was his pride and joy and the mainstay of his waking, solitary existence given that he had no social life beyond the occasional mandatory dinners and lunches required of his position as Chief of Vascular. The walls were lined with solid maple bookcases containing his medical library and miscellaneous novels, CDs and DVDs. Each category had its own neat and separate section, arranged either alphabetically or by height, whichever was the most aesthetically pleasing. The golden Buddha sat in a place of honour on his black lacquer Chinese bookcase as did several antique clocks. His busy schedule left him little time to tinker with those nowadays. His glass and stainless steel desk, the hub of his examining room in Port Wenn, was positioned in the middle of the room. In neat piles on the desktop sat medical journals still to be read. A printout of his latest draft of the article he was preparing for publication lay waiting to fill up his weekend leisure hours.

His logical mind reasoned that he could afford to live reasonably close to Imperial given his current salary. As this was Martin's private and preferred version of his future, he was allowed to create whatever reality he so desired. Therefore he assumed that he had left the Royal Liverpool at the end of the first year of his contract and worked as a senior consultant at Imperial prior to becoming head of his department. His brisk, daily, thirty minute walk to and from the hospital afforded him his weekly exercise, given that his twelve to fourteen hour workdays left little time for anything else. During his mandatory vacation periods, he likely would beetle off on his own for an off season holiday on the Continent, before the tourist season, to explore art galleries and museums.

This vision of his future five years hence suited him perfectly and he wondered why he had been so hesitant at first to conjure it, why he had protested so adamantly when Travers had suggested it. At almost fifty-two years of age, it would be a nice, neatly organized, well controlled and predictable lifestyle devoid of the usual clutter and detritus typically found in messy human entanglements. Martin opened his eyes and smiled. Life would indeed be good, quite satisfactory in fact. Wasn't this exactly what he had been trying to tell Travers? That this "Choice Number One" was ideal? Well contented with himself, Martin decided to finish off part one of the exercise with a flourish; he would focus momentarily on his beloved Aunt Joan, the one pleasant personal constant in his life.

In this idyllic vision, he had finally convinced Joan to sell her farm three years ago. Consequently she had bought a small cottage at the edge of Port Wenn. She came up occasionally to spend a weekend with Martin at his flat but these visits were sporadic given his intense work schedule. He had only been down to Port Wenn twice in these five years. The first was in the Spring three years ago to help Joan with the legal and financial formalities concerning the sale of the farm. He hadn't entered the village at all, electing to stay at a hotel in Wadebridge. His excuse had been that he could only spare two days away from the hospital and therefore it was more prudent that he be in the town where Joan's bank and solicitor were located.

This last thought made no sense. Why wouldn't he stay with Joan? Help her begin to pack up her very cluttered house? She was in her early seventies, with osteoporosis and high blood pressure. What was wrong with him? Unless his motive was to avoid seeing Loui- he halted that thought immediately from further seeping in and spoiling his perfect world.

Martin fidgeted in his leather recliner. He didn't much like where his mind was about to venture; didn't like the corridors and interiors where it was beginning to trek. He erased the last image, taking several deep breaths to refocus himself. He redirected his imagination to the scene previously in progress. His second visit to Cornwall had in fact been later that summer after the farm had sold. He had come down for two weeks to help Joan declutter the house. Fortunately that had taken place in late July when Louisa had been out of the country on holiday and –

If the thoughts in his brain had been sparks from an errant fire, Martin could not have been faster at stomping them out before things got even hotter and more dangerous. He hadn't intended for his mind to take this turn, to move down this path. He didn't want to know anything about Louisa, about how she was living her life and with whom.

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Part Nine continues shortly …


	87. Chapter 87

Chapter Eighty Seven

His eyes fluttered and opened abruptly. Enough of this. He had proven his point; he could easily live a highly satisfactory life on his own, in London, without a wife and children. His defence mechanisms, always at the ready to console and comfort, assured him that this was indeed so. Hadn't this exercise confirmed that very point? Was there any need to continue this visualization a moment longer? He felt disquieted and consumed with unease. Everything had seemed perfect, had felt perfect until a few moments ago. He shrugged it off, puzzled. Time perhaps to stop and have a cold glass of water and stretch his legs. Sitting in one place for too long could lead to a deep vein thrombosis. Was this actually the case after only twenty minutes? Still, he was restless and the glass of water would provide a welcome diversion.

He stood by the kitchen counter and drank the fluid quickly. Did he really need to conduct the second part of the visualization exercise? Travers had claimed that it did no good to carry out one part without the other. They were supposed to be two halves of the same whole. The water calmed him, restored his courage. What could he possibly be afraid of? These were only his private thoughts, his own imagination conjuring up these baseless images. Hadn't he been able to show himself, to convince himself, just how good his future could be? He sat down again on his leather recliner and put his socked feet back up on the ottoman. He sucked in deep, rhythmic breaths: in and out, out and in, until he mustered the nerve to commence once more.

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This seemed alright, safe. He was in control once again. He visualized the food court at one of the better department stores in central London. In reality he had been there many times. He pictured it exactly as he remembered. The various food stalls filling every spare space along the walls, the middle area reserved for a large number of bolted down metal tables and blue plastic chairs. The crowds on either side were milling about on a busy early Sunday afternoon, buying their meals or snacks, sipping their lattes and espressos. Martin's logical mind furnished him with a plausible reason for being in the food court, not somewhere he usually frequented because of their poor nutritional offerings. He decided that he must have needed new black socks and a black belt. The foray into the food court after he made his clothing purchases was the result of wanting a small bag of unsalted, roasted almonds to eat on his way home.

If he could have ended the visualization at this point, he gladly would have done so. However he needed to prove to himself that he could do it and that it would not affect him in the slightest to see Louisa five years hence. He was resolved not to mind it; not to regret having let her walk away from him the way she had on the day of their non-wedding, that deciding to lead their separate lives had been the sensible and most prudent outcome for all concerned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He saw her from behind, instantly recognizing the familiar swish of that chestnut ponytail before any other part of her body came into view. He thought this would be enough to satisfy the requirements of the exercise. Somehow, without his bidding, his mind galloped forward eagerly, in spite of his attempts to stall its actions. It was as if his unconscious wanted to know what it would feel like to see her again after all these years.

It was too late. The Louisa of his fantasy turned around as if on cue to face him. She was a mere ten feet away. He braced himself for the emotional impact.

"Martin? Martin Ellingham? My goodness! It is you. I didn't think so at first." She walked over to where he stood, a genuine smile lighting up her face. She seemed pleased to see him. There was no hint of animosity or rancor in her voice. In this fantasy of his precise concocting, they had parted civilly and amicably, recognizing that this was the most logical of options.

"Um … hello … Louisa."

For a moment the scene froze. All the background buzz of the shoppers shopping and the food vendors dishing out their wares subsided into a hush. It was Martin's prerogative to temporarily halt the vision so that he could focus solely on Louisa. She looked fit and healthy. Perhaps her figure was marginally fuller about the hips and stomach but that was only because he knew he was supposed to imagine a maternal Louisa. His medically attuned brain speculated that a now forty three year old Louisa, who would have given birth sometime in the last two or three years, would have found those last few pounds hard to shift by virtue of her age and perimenopause.

Those five years showed only minimally in other ways: the crinkles and wrinkles around the edges of her eyes were slightly more pronounced, there were new laugh lines around her mouth, perhaps a slight sagging of the skin under her jaw and a mild creasing at her throat. None of these features were unusual or atypical for a woman of her age. She looked better than a woman of her age; she looked stunning. Clearly the north Cornwall coast had preserved her beauty. Much better than if she had been stuck in a sixth storey flat in central London all this time. He hadn't meant to think that last thought. It alarmed him how his mind was racing out of his control, conjuring up imagery that he had not planned.

"You're looking well. Being Chief of Vascular these past couple of years must agree with you." Her tone was pleasant, interested, engaged.

She went on as he stood silently gawking at her. "Joan told me about your appointment at Imperial. I looked up your biography after that. I continue to follow the updates. It's really great that you're back researching and publishing again, just like you always wanted."

So she had not quite forgotten him, continued in fact to be curious and there was no hint of disapproval or hostility in her tone. He was disappointed that she knew more about him than he knew about her life after they had broken up. His conscience stepped in to remind him that this had been his choice. He did not want to know; he wanted to forget her so as to dull his pain and to live without regrets.

"Thank you. You … ah … do see Joan then … from time to time?"

She cocked her head to the side in that familiar way he had seen a thousand times over the years. "Yes, Martin. We do live in the same village. We meet up for tea every once in awhile."

Martin realized that his brain had made a logical assumption. Louisa had known Joan all of her life, far longer than Martin had known Louisa. Of course the two women would get together and the bond had only grown stronger when it had looked like Louisa would marry into the Ellingham clan. After the promising reconciliation of that summer almost six years ago, Joan had such high hopes for them; they had both seemed so committed to a new start.

"Louisa, what are you doing here? I mean … in London this weekend?"

"My … ah … husband … um … was attending a conference about conveyancing on Friday and Saturday." She chewed on her lip. "We're catching the train back to Cornwall in a couple of hours." She looked uncomfortable, clearly uneasy with having to tell Martin about the man who had replaced him in her life.

"Your … husband?" He felt sick just verbalizing the idea.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Part Nine concludes this weekend …


	88. Chapter 88

Chapter Eighty Eight

"Yes. Surely Joan must have told you about him? When I moved back to Port Wenn after our … break-up … I needed help getting my tenants to pay for some damage they had done to my cottage during the course of their lease. Large dents in walls, a broken countertop, that sort of thing. John … my husband now …. was the solicitor from Wadebridge who helped me find a way to deal with the unpleasant legalities."

She looked down at the floor. "I was a bit of a mess that summer and into the autumn… after returning home from London because of … the disappointment …well, you know why. I was rather down and lonely, despite being home again, amongst my friends and resuming my position as Head Teacher."

Louisa brushed back a stray piece of hair. It appeared to Martin that she was gathering herself again, not wanting to become emotional and embarrass him or herself. "Anyway, John was very kind and sympathetic. We struck up a friendship. I think he understood my loneliness and the kind of void that could never be filled. His wife had died four years previously and that's when he had decided to move back to north Cornwall.

She twisted the shiny white gold band on the third finger of her left hand. "When he asked me to marry him eighteen months after we met, it just seemed the natural thing to do. We both wanted children. We were lucky that there was still time for us to have one child. He's been a wonderful father."

"Right," Martin responded stiffly. He had no answer for any of this. Obviously to some extent this man made Louisa happy.

Well, muttered his relentless conscience, what did you expect? That she would stay lonely and alone for the rest of her life? Shun all contact with the opposite sex? Spend the rest of her days pining away for you? Before Martin could say anything further aloud, Louisa looked over his shoulder, smiled and waved to someone. Martin noticed. He had hoped for more time to talk to her.

Annoyed, he asked, "Am I keeping you from anything?"

"Unfortunately, yes. John took our son to the lavatory while I was buying some snacks for the train trip. Now they're back and I have to go. We've got to grab a taxi back to the hotel, wash up then get to Euston station. Sorry that I can't stay and chat further, Martin. It was really lovely to see you again. Joan says that you aren't able to get to Port Wenn often but perhaps next time you do, you might come to our home for dinner?"

"Thank you."

Martin remained rooted to his spot as she walked past him. She was close enough to his side that he could almost feel the air move from the swish of her ponytail. He had missed that sensation. Slowly he turned around to watch her gravitate towards her little family, her life – the one that he could have been a part of if he hadn't been so selfish, so bloody absolute in his demands. Hadn't she pleaded with him to reconsider his decision on that winter night five years ago?

As if instinctively knowing that he was staring at her, she stopped, half turned around and smiled wistfully, giving him a half wave of her hand. A great deal was implicit in that smile; how she wished that life had turned out differently and that it could have been him travelling back to Port Wenn with their child. He nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.

He watched silently as her husband's eyes lit up as she walked intently towards him, as if he were the only person in the crowded room. Martin recognized the intimacy of her movement; it was similar to the way she used to walk towards him when they had been a couple. Louisa put her hand on her husband's arm and whispered something privately in his ear, a comment reserved just for him. This man with the salt and pepper hair glanced curiously at Martin then softly kissed Louisa's cheek. She reached down to the stroller and gently stroked her chestnut haired little boy on the forehead. Then the three of them were gone out the front exit of the food court.

Louisa was gone; removed completely from his life. Both he and she knew he would never accept that invitation to dinner. There would be no more reconciliations, no more fantasizing of meeting up again someday, no more impassioned resolutions to try yet again to get it right between them. Even in this fantasy of his own conjuring, he remembered how in reality Louisa had told him only a few weeks ago, while laying in his bed, that she did not feel that she could survive another breakup, that if they broke up this time, it would be permanent. Martin's conscience chided and needled: see what you have missed, see what you forfeited? You let her go and it was a grave mistake. Look how much you have lost and how much she has gained.

Startled, Martin's eyes flicked open. His chest felt tight and the anxiety of what he had imagined left him momentarily lightheaded. This was not the way this visualization was supposed to end. Wasn't he supposed to meet her, wish her well and be grateful and glad that she had the happy life she wanted, a life that was no longer intertwined with his? That's what he had intended when he had begun this moronic exercise.

This little moving picture show that had played out in his head was wholly a product of his own imagination. Louisa's continued interest in his career, the smile that implied she would gladly have taken him had he only been willing to meet her half way; it was a fantasy, all of it, that he had singlehandedly produced and directed. He had no way of knowing what the real Louisa would have done in this situation but he knew how profoundly she had loved him and how hard she had endeavoured to make their relationship work, over and over again.

Before he had met her, before the scourge of his haemophobia, he had been different, more confidant with the direction of his life. Quite simply, he had organized his existence into watertight, compact, well organized little compartments. He knew, in absolute terms, what he wanted and where he was going. Now he was no longer positive and that lack of absolute certainty terrified him.

Creeping into his mind was the vague remembrance of the recurring nightmare he used to endure in the initial months following the non-wedding and Louisa's departure from the village. In that dream he had a contented and happy Louisa to come home to and it had made all the difference to his life - until the house began evaporating into thin air when the realization hit him that he had not opted for this choice. He now remembered, with a shudder, that the nightmare had ended with Louisa chastising him, telling him that all this could have been his had he only wanted it too and believed in it.

Martin smoothed his tightly cropped hair with one trembling hand. He felt a surge of panic and out of habit immediately began his deep breathing exercises. In a few minutes he was calmer, much clearer headed.

He checked his watch; only nine-fifteen. Not too late then on a Saturday night to telephone her. He just wanted to say hello, to be reassured by hearing the sound of her voice on the other end of the line that she was still a part of his life.

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End of Part 9 of Resolutions

**Author's Note: This story now goes on hiatus. Thank you to all who have taken the time to read Resolutions. It is much appreciated and it is a pleasure to share this story with you.**

**Hoping that everyone enjoys viewing Series Six of Doc Martin, whenever you see it.**


	89. Chapter 89

Resolutions: Part Ten

Author's Note: Wishing all Doc Martin fans across the world a happy, healthy and peaceful 2014. May the New Year bring you all good things.

Chapter Eighty-Nine: An Introduction to Part Ten

There are a number of definitions pertaining to the word "resolution". All of the following apply to the relationship of the Martin and Louisa characters found in this particular Doc Martin story:

A firm decision to do or not do something

The quality of being determined or resolute

The action of solving a problem or a contentious matter

There is a fourth definition of "resolution" which is of a more technical nature. It applies to Part Ten of Resolutions and beyond until its conclusion.

The smallest interval measurable by a scientific (especially optical) instrument; the resolving power (i.e. the degree of detail visible in a photographic or television image)

In other words, the higher the resolution or resolving power, the more clear-cut the image. Thus images become progressively clearer when the resolution itself becomes sharper or more powerful. With a stronger resolve and awareness on both Martin and Louisa's parts in the New Year, emotions and objectives become more pointed and convergent. Things previously fuzzy, unseen or unclear now come plainly into focus and catalyze a resolution.

Part Ten of Resolutions will commence shortly ….


	90. Chapter 90

Resolutions: Part Ten

Author's Note: Wherein the two major characters and the two principal minor characters in this story begin to see things more clearly.

Chapter Ninety

Everywhere about him there was mist; swirling, opaque, menacing. Or was it fog? He could not decide. Whichever, it was cold, damp, heavy and unsettling. He looked upwards. The sky was not quite dark. Not night-time but not daytime either. Rather like twilight; that vague middle ground between the reassurance, warmth and beauty of the day and the foreboding, chill and terrors that characterize the night.

He could not fully get his bearings. There was no moon, no stars, no sun to guide him. No North Star by which to set his course. Nervously he scanned the horizon again. Nothing. Slowly he pivoted round, twice making a full circle, surveying apprehensively his surroundings. No building, no vegetation, no roads, no harbour, no people.

Exactly where was he? He could hear his heartbeat accelerate faster in partnership with his rising anxiety. Was he dead? Had he suffered an acute and catastrophic myocardial infarction in the night while he slept? Had his heart actually given out under the strain? Unlikely in a reasonably fit and active male speedily approaching his forty-seventh birthday. True, he had been experiencing considerable stress lately. Whereas he relished his return to full-time surgery, research and teaching, the worry and instability of his very unresolved relationship with Louisa was beginning to take its toll upon him. Compounding it all was the unavoidable reality that he missed her terribly.

Perhaps he really was dead. Wouldn't that be ironic? The man generally rumoured to have no heart actually dies after succumbing to a heart attack. Some of his colleagues and former patients would say that it was medically impossible. If he was dead, then where had he landed? This did not look like Hell. He felt he would know with utter certainty what Hell looked like. He had lived there for almost forty-seven years. He would recognize Hell if he saw it. It would surely be littered with moronic patients, incompetent health care workers, annoying neighbours and dreadful parents.

Could this place be Heaven? Not bloody likely. He did not give any credence to the concept of Heaven. There was no scientific data to confirm its existence. Some of his dying patients had taken great comfort and solace in the conviction that their souls would be transported to that infinitely better place. Standing by their bedsides, medically assessing their deteriorating and bleak condition, he had inwardly scoffed but outwardly said nothing. No reprimands or reproves at such a sensitive moment. If the concept of Heaven provided a safe harbour from the pain and fear of imminent mortality, then who was he to challenge the beliefs of the dying and the bereaved families they would soon leave behind?

If this was Heaven then it certainly seemed a gloomy place. He decided that this must be somewhere else. His brain vigorously endeavoured to determine what was happening to him. What was the last significant thing he remembered? What preceded his landing here? Prior to going to bed he has spoken with Louisa shortly before ten o'clock. He had finished that disturbing visualization exercise about nine-fifteen, practiced his breathing exercises for another twenty minutes and then telephoned her. Initially her mobile had been busy but he had tried repeatedly until he finally met with success.

The phone call had lasted but a few minutes. The warmth and welcome in her voice were proof that she was glad to hear from him. She had just gotten off the phone with Caroline Bosman and was full of news about the daily goings on in Port Wenn. He had listened, grunting occasionally to signal that he was still on the line, feigning interest while not really interested at all. Instead he listened for the tone and timbre of her voice: the resonance of her Cornish lilt, the inflections and emphasis at the end of particular phrases and words, the rise and fall and pitch and tenor reflecting her changing emotions as she recounted the latest gossip and general machinery of daily village life. After saying very little but having been soothed and reassured by this brief interlude with her, he had ended the conversation feeling better, so much better than an hour ago when wrestling with the demons in his visualization exercise.

So, back to the problem at hand. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was nodding off to sleep, an open medical journal in his hand. Wherever this was, night was now falling. The mist or fog or whatever form of precipitation it was, had now turned into heavy rain. Still no stars or moon appeared in the pitch black sky. It was bleak, frigid and eerily quiet. He tramped on, his feet mired in mud and the boggy soil of what now seemed disquietly similar to Bodmin Moor. He tripped twice, feeling himself getting progressively more tired, chilled and wet. He didn't know which way to turn or which way to go. Heaviness descended upon his body, slowing his steps and a melancholy enveloped his spirit.

A slow panic bubbled to the surface of his psyche. If he was not dead already, he soon would be. His diagnostic skills recognized the initial symptoms of hypothermia. Whether it was solely corporeal or encompassed just his soul, he could not assess. Either way he felt dead inside.

Tensing up, suddenly alert once more, he was certain that he detected a sound off in the distance. Faint at first, barely registering, it served as a beacon allowing him to finally get his bearings and subsequently stumble towards it. The voice was human and he, who did not care much for human interaction, was profoundly glad to hear it and know that he was not alone.

The voice drew him in. He was simultaneously mesmerized and enticed. Through muck, moisture and mire he continued in a direction that was decidedly forward. No slip sliding backwards anymore. Closer now to the source, he recognized the lilt, the inflections and the resonance of the voice. Finally he could make out her words. She was calling his name.

As he walked further, the ground beneath his feet began to solidify, drying out the mud and the sludge that previously impeded his forward movements and bogged down his progress. He felt sure-footed once more. Ahead there was daylight, the first that he had encountered in this terrifying place. Then he saw the small hill on which she was standing; it was warm and dry and sunlit. As he ventured closer still, he could just make out her outline. She was wearing a long white dress and was backlit by the cascading sunlight.

At last he had made his way to the foot of the hill. The brilliant white of her dress momentarily startled him as his eyes made the adjustment from darkness into light. A fine ivory bodice and mid-forearm sleeves tightly accentuated the top half of her torso; the rest of her was lost in a flowing silk satin skirt. Her chestnut hair was down around her shoulders, adorned by a veil liberally dotted with tiny silk flowers. She had stopped calling his name. Her silent lips, glossy and red, parted in a broad smile. She looked beautiful and serene and etherial. Perhaps he was dead and she was a ghost sent to welcome him. Maybe this was Heaven after all.

"Martin."

Her voice sounded inviting and velvety and soothing. He had a dim recollection of having heard it sound just that way only recently.

"Louisa? What are you doing in this awful place?"

"Waiting for you. Waiting for you to come out of the darkness."

He shivered briefly in his wool suit, against the last of the cold and the damp and against something far less tangible but infinitely more terrible.

When she spoke again, her tranquility and reassurance diminished his chill. "It's taken ever so long for you to get here. It's been a long road hasn't it, travelling all alone? But you have made it and all on your own. Very good."

Was it his imagination or was the cold evaporating, replaced by warmer air? "Not really, Louisa. I was lost. Couldn't get my bearings until I heard the sound of your voice."

"But you made it. Just the same. You've been searching for yourself and for us for such a long time. I choose to believe that you would have arrived here regardless. Only the road might have been longer, more twisted, more of a struggle."

A light and pleasant breeze suddenly came up, clearing out the last of the suffocating humidity. Louisa brushed aside the veil once more from her face and smiled. She stretched out one partially lace covered arm towards him.

"Come to me, Martin. Come in out of the darkness and the rain."

Gingerly he climbed up the hill to where she was waiting for him. A piercing wail suddenly broke into his peace, so incongruent with the harmony of his current surroundings. As he slowly awoke, groggy and with a reluctance to leave Louisa, he recognized the wail of his alarm clock, alerting him to the presence of a new day. It reminded him that it was early on a Sunday morning in Liverpool and that he was the senior staff man on call to assess incoming vascular emergences at the Royal Liverpool hospital.

Part Ten continues next weekend ….


	91. Chapter 91

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety One

There seemed little point in continuing to fiddle with her pen. Exasperated with herself, Lindsay put it down beside the black leather notebook in which she had been attempting to jot down her ideas. Inspiration for her lecture to the second year medical students at the Royal Cornwall wasn't going to be forthcoming until she first dealt with the other matter that was so doggedly preoccupying her thoughts. She simply could not focus on the matter at hand.

She had primarily set aside this evening to formulate her notes for a short series of lectures concerning the psychodynamic reactions of parents following their child's emergency admission to hospital. Under normal circumstances, preparing these thirty minute lectures wouldn't be an arduous challenge for Lindsay, experienced as she was in treating families at the Royal Cornwall. She quite liked lecturing and was hoping to make it a more permanent part of her future now that the medical school in Plymouth had broadened their teaching mandate in Truro.

Despite those professional ambitions pleasantly dancing in her head, they were not enough to distract her from the issue at hand. She could not get last night's telephone conversation with Louisa out of her mind. So much did that conversation impinge on her ability to concentrate that it hindered her from thinking about anything else this evening for more than ten minutes at a time. It was a good thing that Alex was away at a conference in Norwich otherwise she would have driven him crazy. He always said that her need to analyze everything outweighed even her need to shop.

Perhaps, Lindsay told herself for the third time, if she put another log onto the fire it would divert her from fretting and warm the chill of this first Sunday evening in February. The coastal winds felt practically gale force tonight. As she poked at the fat log, shifting it into place atop the embers of the wood currently disintegrating in the grate, Lindsay worried about the fate of Martin and Louisa. Worrying about them had practically become a hobby with her lately. Perhaps less a hobby and more of an apprehensive preoccupation.

It seemed that the two of them, since mid-January, had reached a standstill over where their relationship was heading. It was an impasse which they apparently could not figure out how to circumvent or surmount or navigate their way out of. Not a promising sign considering their brilliant reconciliation last summer. Better though that the crisis reached its head now rather than after their being married or living together. This impasse, whatever its final outcome, was likely to decide their fate once and for all.

Lindsay crumpled up a sheet of newspaper and threw it onto the embers, trusting that the sparks would transfer to the paper, spreading next to the dried centre and bark of the fresh log. It was what always happened when she built a fire. Years of outdoor camping experience had taught her what to expect; if you did this procedure followed by that procedure then you could easily predict the outcome. If only events were that predictable and assured in other parts of nature, especially when it came to human nature.

One had only to examine the case of Martin and Louisa. There was absolutely no denying, for instance, that a huge spark had been kindled between those two from the moment they met. Spontaneous combustion actually. Some wonderful quirk of nature had ignited a burning passion between them. That flame may have faltered and flickered but seemingly nothing had the ability to douse it completely. No matter what amount of cold water reality could splash upon them, the heat never extinguished. The flame always took hold again, burning high and bright.

A quirk of nature indeed. To this day Lindsay, a devoted student of human nature, could not quite fathom how or why this improbable push-me-pull-you couple managed to endure and survive. Many others found it a mystery too. For not one second did she doubt Martin and Louisa's loyalty, devotion or commitment to each other. That made them all the more extraordinary. She was unwaveringly convinced that each held a great and abiding love for the other. One had to look no further for proof than the fact that these two constantly bashed their heads against an invisible wall and bruised their hearts in their continual efforts to propel their relationship forward. Somehow there was always a deep rooted faith that no matter how many times they lost one another, they would always find each other again.

Lindsay used the poker to gently manipulate the smouldering log into a more advantageous position on top of the dying fire underneath. It gave her pause to reflect. What exactly was it about this mismatched couple that made people root for them despite the odds? Mrs. Tishell, the village gossips, the cynics and the skeptics excluded, naturally. Martin and Louisa were hardly the stereotypical hero and heroine found in fairy tales. A sharp bookmaker would cast their chances of lasting success at no better than twelve to one. Despite those dismal odds, people cheered them on to make a go of it. But why bother? Why were people so keen to watch their ups and downs, their tentative steps forwards and their frustrating leaps backwards?

Part Ten and Lindsay's musings continue next weekend …


	92. Chapter 92

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety-Two

**Author's Note:** Lindsay's answers to the questions posed in this chapter are not meant to be exhaustive. As a character in this story and as a close friend of Louisa's, she may well have a somewhat different perspective than fans of the television series. However in other ways she does mirror the hopes, fears and doubts of the rest of us well wishers. The author welcomes comments regarding why we cheer for this perplexing couple.

Why care about what happens to Martin and Louisa? Lindsay gave the wood another poke and pondered this question. Maybe it was because Martin and Louisa's story gave you hope about your own life, she considered. It sparked a belief and a lingering conviction that if such a profound and enduring love could happen to two such divergent people, perhaps it could happen to the rest of us too. This conviction exemplified the faith and the hope that we all have, to believe that at some point in our lives, this kind of happiness, joy and security will come to us one day too.

Let's face it, she mulled, thinking for a fleeting but sharply agonizing moment about the happy days in her own marriage before her husband cheated on her, who doesn't love a good romance? She and others in Port Wenn like Bert, Al and Joan, felt themselves drawn to and invested in Martin and Louisa's story. If the relationship were to morph into a long-term marriage, how fortunate would this couple be to spend the rest of their lives loving each other and assured that this love was reciprocated and mutual. Some people never got so lucky. Maybe people wanted to believe in the promise of a 'happily ever after'. Some people achieved that. Some people only got the 'ever after'.

When you watched two people you cared about struggle and strain hard to get things right between them, you just wanted to cheer them on, to hope that they would receive their just desserts. So valiant a fight surely deserved a happy ending.

And let's face it, she reminded herself, she did care about Martin's welfare too, not just that of her close friend. When she had first met Martin, she quickly developed a great respect for his professional skills but thought the village had him properly pegged; he was an insufferable tosser. Initially she could not for the life of her imagine what Louisa could possibly see in him as a prospective lover, let alone as a life mate. Over time and perhaps it was the child psychologist in her, she gradually had managed to unearth and distinguish the gruff often combative professional from the frightened, damaged and insecure man who apparently had never been able to resolve and reconcile deeply unsettling childhood traumas.

Perhaps part of the reason she wanted Martin to succeed in his relationship with Louisa was because in a way Louisa was his salvation, his path to redemption, as it were. Like Louisa, she too had come to believe that there was a deeply caring and sensitive man buried very deep within. It was conceivable that the right kind of woman and the right kind of love could assist him to heal his emotional wounds and scars.

Lindsay stared at the orange, pink, white and yellow colours emanating from the fire. She hesitated to ask herself the same question that she had been forced to ask herself almost a year ago when she had boarded the train to visit a distraught Louisa. Would love be able to conquer all? As a psychologist treating families, she had seen many couples who loved one another but could not make a go of it for a number of reasons. We always want love to be enough; sometimes it wasn't.

She knew that Louisa was concerned that Martin had yet to discuss with her any options whatsoever for their combined future. Judging from Louisa's tone on the telephone last night, doubt was beginning to erode her confidence in his desire to do so. Maybe Martin, every bit as stubborn a personality as Louisa, felt it was not in him to concede on any front. It would be a huge step indeed for one so used to the solitary life. Louisa had reluctantly admitted, in a hushed tone, that she realized that life with Martin was always going to be challenging. The exact word she had used was "difficult". And she had added with embarrassed hesitation, she knew that at times she could be problematic as well given her temper, impatience and rush to judgment. Lindsay considered that to be a pretty honest and accurate statement. No question that at least Louisa was entering into the next phase of the relationship with her eyes wide open.

It seemed to Lindsay that Louisa had spent most of her relationship with Martin waiting for him to make some sort of decision or take some kind of action: whether to ask her out to dinner or for a drink, to hold her hand, to tell her how he felt about her, to kiss her, to marry her.

At thirty-seven-and-a half Louisa had become engaged to but not married to Martin. At thirty-eight-and-a-quarter they had reconciled. At thirty-eight-and-three-quarters she was still hoping to work out the kinks and major obstacles in their attachment. All of this prevarication over the past fifteen months and still no resolution. And she was still waiting even now for another decision.

Lindsay threw a scented pinecone onto the fire and watched it crackle as the infused odour filled the room. She frowned, thinking about her friend and the tremendous gamble Louisa was taking to secure a committed relationship with a man who had ample reason to avoid committed relationships. It was a huge risk for one so averse to gambling; she already had abundant evidence in her life of the ravages playing the odds could wreak. Certainly the pay-off would be deeply satisfying but it was a long-shot nonetheless. Most wouldn't make the bet. Then again, Louisa had such tremendous faith in her relationship with Martin.

The log was now fully engulfed in flames; crackling brightly away it emitted a sustained and pleasant heat, enough to sufficiently take the intense chill out of the February air. Lindsay sat back on the sofa and watched her work with a sense of fulfilment. Building a fire was such a soothing and rewarding act to perform. She wondered if her cavemen ancestors also found it so. Or maybe they just considered it a practical and fundamental task germane to their survival, not something romantic as she did, sitting in her cozy, amenities filled, twenty-first century Cornish cottage.

All human beings, regardless of whichever century they lived in, needed fire in order to subsist. It was one of the tools that helped ensure a person's basic requirements for survival: sustenance, shelter, sleep. As a child psychologist she considered human relationships another primary need. Maybe it was just her professional bias but she was convinced that people needed people. That human contact and interaction were essential components of what gave meaning, purpose and direction to one's life. Some people needed it more and some people needed it less but at some point everybody needed somebody for something.

Lindsay wondered about Martin. Most certainly he suffered from social isolation and whereas he made a great show of not needing anyone and sometimes paraded his self-sufficiency with the pomposity of a braggart, he most certainly had suffered from profound loneliness during the months when Louisa had not been in his life. Lindsay was fairly certain that he had suffered some form of depression in the period between the non-wedding and the late spring. She hadn't dared inquire directly about it. Martin would have bitten off her head.

Could Martin make the changes required of him in order to foster a happily married life? Would he even want to? Nobody could compel or pressure him to do it. The impetus must come of his own volition. It was a lot to ask of him, to ask of anyone actually: become a parent, live in the backwater of Port Wenn, relinquish the road back to a celebrated surgical career at one of the top hospitals in London. He clearly had changed substantially during the past year. She had borne witness to his substantial emotional growth when he and Louisa had visited Port Wenn over the Christmas break. Did he have the capacity and propensity to change even further?

And what of Louisa? Would she be satisfied with whatever, if any, compromises Martin agreed to make? Her high expectations and demands of others would cloud her judgement as would her obstinacy. Could she too capitulate when all of her demands weren't met? Would her disappointment mar her appreciation for how much Martin was willing to compromise?

Lindsay stood up and fiddled with the fire one more time. A wayward ember fled the grate, flew into the air and landed squarely at her feet. She quickly stamped it out before it set fire to the fringes of the Indian rug on the floor. With that physical act she shook off her worries and resolved to stamp out her fears and doubts regarding the fate of Martin and Louisa. She must have more faith; she would fret no more. Of course they would make it. They had to make it. Weren't people rooting for them?

Part Ten continues next weekend …


	93. Chapter 93

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety-Three

"Just so I am sure that I understand this correctly, let me summarize. What you have been saying for the last few minutes is that you believe I am the cause of your discomfort? You found the visualization exercise to be a painful experience?"

"You are the person who assigned the exercise to me and set all the parameters. I only followed your instructions." It was easier to deflect his anxiety by projecting the problem onto someone else.

"That is true. Guilty as charged. However I merely provided you with the blank canvas, the subject matter, the paints and the paintbrushes. It was your mind, your thoughts, which determined what you would or would not see and feel. What you chose to paint and how, was entirely down to you."

"But it was you who told me to visualize Louisa married to someone else and with a family!"

Martin was utterly exasperated with this man. Could he not see the agitation he had caused his patient? How the visualization exercise had disturbed and unsettled him, not to mention the nightmare afterwards? He had been ruminating on them since Sunday morning. It hadn't dawned on him so vividly before just what his personal life might be like without Louisa. For the first time he had an accurate picture and it distressed him.

Professional successes and the neat, orderly personal life aside, he at this point comprehended that he could not merely return to his former ways. He wanted more from life now. He remembered how he had felt during those first few months after she had left the village: lonely, untethered, at sea. He had always assumed that they would find a way to go on. He had hoped that she would agree to forget about Port Wenn and rearing a family. Was he being selfish to not appreciate and consider the things she wanted? For a man who saw the world in absolute terms, these new revelations were deeply alarming.

"Correct. And you might have pictured that scene with Louisa any way that you wanted. The exercise, contrary to what you think and as a direct result of the realizations about yourself which you unearthed, was a success. The point being that you initially envisioned a neat, comfortable and solitary future for yourself. It is what you thought you wanted, at least superficially. No messes, no complicated human interactions."

Dr. Travers lit his pipe, taking a long puff of satisfaction before continuing. "Part of the reason you envisioned your future self being able to do this successfully was because you suppressed your feelings for Louisa and avoided any contact with her, even if that meant rarely visiting your aunt in Cornwall or refusing to hear from anybody how Louisa's life was progressing without you. Your defence mechanisms were operating at maximum throttle. Full speed ahead. Then when it was unavoidable that you actually had to meet Louisa, you found the outcome sufficiently traumatic that you suffered the beginnings of a panic attack."

"Thank you. I was there, you know. I was the participant, not the observer. You needn't bother to repeat what happened to me." He was shooting with both guns blazing; uneasy and apprehensive about facing some basic truths that he felt unready to acknowledge but which he knew were lurking latent beneath his combative veneer.

"Summarization is one technique that therapists utilize to ensure that she or he and the patient both have a clear understanding of what has been said."

"I know what 'summarization' means. And I am well aware of what transpired during the visualization exercise."

"Are you quite certain, Martin?"

"Now you are going to tell me that I wasn't? Are you planning on being maddenly obtuse again?"

"That isn't my intention, I assure you. My job is to help you see things more clearly. I was just wondering whether you saw any similarities between that scenario and the development of your phobia?"

"My phobia? That's ludicrous. What kind of connection could there possibly be? I wasn't performing surgery on Louisa!"

Martin shifted himself in his chair, letting his back hit the chair cushions with a loud thud, his large hands grasping the front of the arm rests, his face twisted in a tortuous set of grimaces. He wanted to switch off his computer screen or feign hearing his mobile ring or pretend someone was at his condo door. Anything to get away from this agonizing situation; it was so much easier to avoid the truth during one's waking hours. Not so easy at night when asleep.

Dr. Travers allowed a few moments to pass in silence. He could read the body language and make a reasonable assumption at what was unfolding at the other end of the computer screen. It was usually this way when patients were forced to come to terms with their own uncomfortable truths, when they were on the precipice of another insight which they were reluctant to confront. If Martin could stick with it for a few more minutes, something good might come out of it. Would he be able to do it?

"I was wondering whether you detected any similarities in your behavioural responses, particularly in regards to how you managed your emotions in both situations?"

"No."His attention was caught though; his mind waivered momentarily from the notion of getting out of this session as fast as he could. His diagnostic skills were being called into play. An intellectual puzzle had been placed before him. His curiousity was aroused even if he was a reluctant patient. He leaned forward towards the screen; one perspiring hand slowly released its grip on the armrest. "How do you mean?"

"You haven't experienced a panic attack since October. It's now the beginning of February. You have done splendidly. And that is largely because you didn't just learn how to control your symptoms but endeavoured, however distressing, to examine and explore the root causes of your phobia. Some patients find it too unbearable to commit to doing the latter. You have shown great fortitude and courage, Martin. Really well done."

Embarrassed by the compliment, Martin made a clicking sound with his tongue, shrugging it off. "I did what any good patient should do. I complied with the protocols prescribed by my health care provider." He coughed to diffuse his unease. "Get on with the explanation." He held up his suited forearm and pointed to his wrist watch. "The clock is ticking."

Right." Dr. Travers drew another long haul of his pipe, causing Martin to glare at him with as much disdain as he could muster under the circumstances. Since he was not in the same room as the eminent psychologist, it was pointless to mention the dangers of secondary smoke as a blue cloud momentarily filled the computer screen. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind the smoker of the perils of lip and lung cancer. He chose not to deliver the tongue lashing, being more anxious to hear his therapist's observations.

"In your visualization exercise you attempted to manage, repress or deflect your feelings regarding Louisa but thoughts of her kept seeping in regardless. However you could no longer control or deny your emotions when faced with the possibility that you had lost her forever. Your fears could not be suppressed any longer and consequently got the better of you. That is when you experienced the acute anxiety and panic. Of course this is simply my own interpretation. Perhaps you wish to suggest an alternative explanation? You know better than anyone else what you were feeling and cognitively processing at the time."

Dr. Travers sat back in his chair, tapped his briar pipe into the ashtray, removed the excess burnt tobacco and waited to hear Martin's answer.

Part Ten and Martin's difficult but productive therapy session continue next weekend …


	94. Chapter 94

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety-Four

**Author's Primary Note:** There are different approaches to treating Martin Ellingham and different psychologists who would choose other methods than those presented in this story. Dr. Travers' approach suits the premise of this fictional plotline.

**Author's Secondary Note: **definition ofirresolution – hesitancy or uncertainty

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"Er … no." Martin glanced away from his screen. He had to admit to himself that Dr. Travers' explanation made sense. It appeared that there were a number of things that he had now to admit to himself. "That … um … sounds plausible," he mumbled.

"Perhaps one might conjecture that the visualization exercise, while discomfiting, was actually helpful in showing you what you want, once you shave off the top layers of your apprehensions and irresolution."

"Or maybe what I want just isn't manageable for me. Life with Louisa is always going to be difficult. We are very different. Incompatible in some ways: where to live, whether to start a family, her wanting me to be the GP for her beloved village. It might be easier for us to go our separate ways before we make one another unhappy again. Too many expectations and uncertainties."

"Agreed. It might be much easier to live the solitary life than to share it with a partner/spouse and eventually a family. From what you have told me, she is someone who is always going to test you, to push your boundaries and to see if she can change you."

Dr. Travers used his thumb to squash a stray spark from his pipe. His voice remained neutral. "Perhaps that is one of her flaws. It's a very human one and common in many relationships. We often get into long-term relationships thinking that we can persuade, cajole or coerce the other person into making personality changes more amenable to us or that we think would improve the other person. We often are guilty of thinking, somewhat arrogantly, that we know what is best for our partners. If you believe that the risk of getting irreparably hurt or the possibility of being wretched with Louisa is simply inevitable and unpreventable then do what you think is right for you."

Martin said nothing. This back and forth, this uncertainty, this focus on emotions was immensely disconcerting. He liked science, he liked facts, and he liked a sure thing. He felt his thoughts scattering in polar opposite directions at the same time. An internal battle waged. Every positive thought about Louisa was challenged by an internal, insecure voice shouting at him, warning him of the possible negative consequences and the dangers. In short, he was afraid that he could not measure up. Life rarely presented him with a gift without attaching a very large price tag. That price he always found very hard to pay. The cost was often too high.

Dr. Travers observed Martin's scowl, the deep creases in his face, the tightness around his jaw and lips, the eyes staring in marked concentration at the floor. Although he could not see Martin's hands, he suspected they were tightly clenched in a vice grip. It was telling: Martin's insecurities were getting the better of him. Dr. Travers leaned into his computer screen.

"If you truly believe that your life would be trouble-free lived alone, doing only the things that you think would make you happy then that more secure path may well be the most undemanding one." He already knew that Martin did not want this less satisfactory option but it had to be explored nonetheless. Martin was entitled to make whatever decision he thought best for himself. A life without this woman that he so clearly loved and wanted to be with, would be more straightforward but undoubtedly much more lonely, particularly in the years following retirement.

Martin frowned back at the computer screen and nodded, his brain actively processing this suggestion. But already a refusal of a life without Louisa was forming on his lips. The option which had described was not acceptable. He was sure of it now. More sure than he had been for the past couple of weeks. This did nothing to squelch his other fears however. He was worried what marriage to Louisa might mean, what would be demanded of him and what he would be asked to give up, what was already being asked of him to give up. For all of this, he could not conceive of a life without her. Turmoil broiled.

"But think on this, Martin, before you reach some final conclusion. Love should not be a solitary act. Do not simply love someone from afar, most especially when that person so evidently loves you back. Surely when this love is such a positive force in your life and it is requited, it is worth acting upon?"

"But it is a tremendous risk, isn't it? I mean … there are no iron-clad guarantees that it will work out well."

"Now we are straying out of my area of expertise. I'm merely a psychologist, not a philosopher. Would you like to hear my personal opinion or shall we skip the sentiment and move on with the analysis?"

"Go ahead. Elaborate. I'm already so bloody confused. One more set of unimaginative and unpalatable platitudes piled on the heap likely won't irritate me any further."

"Alright. I agree with you. Does that surprise you? We can never know what life or fate or destiny or whatever you choose to call it, has in store for us. But does that mean we should never take a risk or act?"

Martin's shoulders slouched as he leaned into the computer screen, finally deciding to share something that had been troubling him for days. "But our marriage might be a failure. … I might fail. I might very well muck it up. My parents' marriage was hardly an ideal role model. Maybe I would be as equally a horrid spouse and parent as my own were. Perhaps I will be as disapproving and pompous as my father, or even worse, as selfish and heartless as my mother."

He brushed a fidgeting hand through his hair. "Maybe I won't be able to stick it out in the hinterlands of Cornwall. Perhaps if Louisa and I follow my plan and live, just the two of us, in London where I can resume my former career, then we might have a reasonable shot at having a happy marriage."

"You are not alone in those fears. We all have them. Yes, they are a realistic possibility but that does not make them a strong probability. Fearing an outcome does not make it so. Remember that apprehensions are fears about something that has as yet not happened and may never happen. If you are apprehensive about something, take steps to safeguard against it or to minimize its effects."

Dr. Travers paused to suck on his pipe. "If you are worried about failing then prepare for failure. Analyze in advance what might go wrong and plan strategies that will assist you to handle it if something starts to go awry. Watch for the pitfalls and learn how to stay out of them. You cannot safeguard against every possibility nor can you control the future. However preparing in advance and being ready to deal with problems when they first crop up, will go a long way to storing up your confidence and alleviating your apprehensions. "

"Let me give you an example. Recently I attended a conference on the nature of fear. The keynote speaker was a former downhill skiing champion. He had won numerous world competitions and two gold medals at the Olympics. Interestingly he admitted that he always felt significant fear prior to competing in a big competition. He had a somewhat unique strategy for his preparations before the big race."

Dr. Travers knocked his pipe against his desk, readying to relight it again. "While other skiers were practising their affirmations and visualizing success and winning the race, he was taking advantage of walking the course one last time, taking note of the slippery spots and the ruts and the uneven patches. Next he strategized and visualized how to handle each potential problem. He developed strategies how to avoid these rough patches and what to do if he hit one inadvertently. That way when he flew out of the gate, he felt more prepared and when something did happen he was better equipped to handle it, less likely to panic and fall."

Dr. Travers waved his pipe in the air, pointing it at the screen. "Do not define yourself solely by your flaws, Martin. It's an error that many of us make. You must focus on your strengths as well. We have discussed your parents and your childhood many times during our sessions. There is no reason for you to deduce that you will follow their behavioural patterns. In fact, considering how much and how deeply you suffered as a result of them, it is more likely that you will strive not to do so and correct your errors when you make them."

Patient and therapist sat silently, both gathering their thoughts again, chewing on what had been said, contemplating the gravity of the spoken and unspoken thoughts.

"Do not count yourself out, Martin. You have every reason to have faith in yourself. You have made immense progress since we started working together last April. You have been an able student and highly motivated to control and cure your phobia and to learn the necessary skills to have a satisfactory intimate relationship with whichever woman you choose."

Martin stared blankly at the screen. "Oh." He didn't feel quite as assured as Dr. Travers.

"I wonder …"

"Now what? You certainly are doing a substantial amount of wondering today." What painful insight was the old codger going to unearth next?

"That's because you are providing us with lots of interesting material to discuss today. Very productive. Anyway, I was thinking about that dream you had last weekend following the visualization exercise – "

Part Ten and Martin's therapy session will continue later in February …


	95. Chapter 95

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety-Five

"Yes? What about it?" He did not apologize for snapping. He was all at once eager and impatient for answers; anything to guide him out of this mental maze of confusion.

"My suggestion is that the dream was telling you at least two things. First that you are beginning to see and understand things more clearly. Your subconscious is showing you quite explicitly where you now stand and where you want to go. It's unlikely a coincidence that your dream was preceded by the visualization exercise."

Dr. Travers pointed his pipe stem at the screen, emphasizing his point. "Quite possibly they demonstrate that although your conscious self does not want to acknowledge it yet, your subconscious has already made up your mind. It is no longer a question of whether you want to be with Louisa permanently. Instead it is a question of whether you are going to allow your fears and doubts and your own resistance to stand in your way. Are you prepared to think your way out of irresolution?"

Martin bristled. "My so called fears and doubts are quite justified. "

"Do you remember the poem by Robert Frost, 'The Road Not Taken'?"

"Of course. You've alluded to it before. Why you dredge up a poem written almost a hundred years ago is beyond me. I was forced to memorize it in middle school. Now it's plastered on greeting cards and vacuous posters everywhere ad nauseum. How does it end? Let me see if I can still remember: 'Two roads diverged in a wood and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference'."

"Well done, Martin. Sometimes taking the much travelled path can lead to a lifetime of regret. Sometimes it is good to take a risk. Over more than thirty years of practice I've seen a wide and varied cross section of patients. Some were wealthy, some famous, some brilliant, many just ordinary people trying to make sense of the paths they had chosen to travel. It has been my personal experience, after thirty years of listening, that what most people regret, what they tend most to ruminate upon, especially later in life, is what they did not do rather than celebrating what they did do."

Martin took a moment to consider the veracity of Dr. Travers' observation. Certainly if the visualization was accurate then taking the safe, familiar and solitary road that would lead him alone to London as a celebrated surgeon would likely also fill him with immense regret regarding Louisa. "And the second interpretation of my dream?"

"My sense is that your dream was illustrating that you have developed the ability to unstick yourself from the metaphorical mud and find your way out of the darkness, even when you feel the most frightened and unsure."

"Not exactly. It was Louisa's voice that guided me."

"True and that says a great deal about how you feel about her and the positive changes she has brought to your life. She was the catalyst, the guide, the motivation that spurred you into action. She was also the reward at the end of a long and difficult journey. But do not discount yourself; it was you who literally took the steps forward to walk out of the darkness. No thing or person could have forced or coerced you to do that. You experienced a transformative moment, if that does not sound too much like sentimental rubbish to you."

"It does. I wonder why you don't abandon your psychotherapy career and become a poet?"

Dr. Travers ignored the insult. He was pleased. Martin was usually at his most cutting when he was experiencing a breakthrough. "Psychotherapy pays better. Anyway I couldn't string two lines of iambic pentameter together if I stayed up all night trying. I am not trained in dream interpretation either. My skills are rudimentary. I can suggest an excellent psychoanalyst in Plymouth who might help you explore your dreams further, if you would like."

"No, thank you. That would be a colossal waste of time. I don't need one more so called mental health professional poking around in my head. You are sufficiently enigmatic to give me constant headaches."

"I doubt that. Metaphorical headaches perhaps. Not real ones, I trust?"

"No. However I'm sorry that I even mentioned that bloody dream to you."

But he wasn't. Far from it. Not that he would admit it aloud. He had long debated and vacillated concerning whether to mention the dream to Dr. Travers. Doing so would only further expose his vulnerabilities and rub his personal agonies to the point of rawness. He hated that; it was excruciating. He preferred to present himself as always in control, the man with the answers, the person in charge of himself and every situation.

But he remembered how good the ending of the dream had made him feel: Louisa her most beautiful, beckoning him towards her and into a better place. He knew now that he did not want to fight his desire to be with her. He wanted it, perhaps even craved it after a lifetime of shunning and shutting out almost everyone. This alarmed him; this overwhelming need for someone else. He hadn't told Dr. Travers about his unquenchable yearning to hear Louisa's voice following the visualization exercise. How he had repeatedly punched the redial button on his mobile number until her line ceased being busy and she had answered his call. Being alone was much more straightforward, more predictable, less exposure to potential hurt.

In the end Martin had decided to confide in Dr. Travers. Psychotherapy had been humiliating and difficult but it had produced results, realizations and a reckoning of sorts. Insights and conclusions had been forthcoming courtesy of Dr. Travers' assistance and prodding. This often uncooperative and hostile patient knew he would never have fathomed those depths by himself. Grudgingly, Martin had to admit that this plodding, often maddening, old codger was as good as the reputation that preceded him.

The final factor that convinced Martin to discuss the dream came from the practical need to solicit some advice from a disinterested and unbiased party regarding the future. To whom else could he turn? Not to Louisa or Joan or Lindsay or Chris Parsons. These four had vested interests in his returning to Cornwall. Martin could not think of anyone else to whom he could go for a frank, substantive and confidential discussion.

It unnerved Martin how much Dr. Travers had come to understand the workings of his mind. Travers had told him right from the beginning of their sessions that treatment of his phobia, his depression and his issues with Louisa would not have successful outcomes if Martin chose to withhold either the truth or an honest accounting of his emotions. Travers had compared it to a patient who came to Martin with serious concerns about the onset of a potentially serious illness then masked and lied about the actual symptoms. Lying and denying in therapy would impede, impair and obstruct his progress.

In the end, Martin had complied. Now, ten months into treatment, he was often impressed how spot on Dr. Travers' analysis could be. Like assigning him that particular visualization exercise. It had demonstrated to Martin what he most wanted and what he most feared. And he could not refute the subsequent interpretations either. Bullseye.

Concerning one matter however, Martin had firmly made up his mind that he would not disclose the contents therein to Dr. Travers. It related to a specific aspect of his dream. He had not made the connection himself until later that Sunday morning when he was once again pondering the concoctions produced by his brain the night before.

Something about the setting in which the dream had taken place was eerily and disturbingly familiar. At first glance the cold, dark and boggy scene could have been lifted straight out of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 'Hound of the Baskervilles' or any horror movie set on an English moor.

As he mulled over the Arts section of the Liverpool Sunday Gazette, it suddenly struck Martin where he had seen that exact misty moor before. It did resemble Bodmin Moor but more importantly it bore an uncanny resemblance to the landscape he had envisioned when had written the poem for Louisa last August. Well, he thought, at least his imagination created imagery that was consistent. Hadn't he then expressed his gratitude to her for taking him by the hand and leading him out of a dark and foreboding place?

This was one insight he steadfastly refused to share with Travers. It was an intensely private and intimate experience shared between two lovers, between a poet and his muse. Martin held to his belief of the self-image he wanted to project; he was a physician who wrote prescriptions, not poetry. On this he would not budge.

Thinking again about the connection between his poem and his dream, he found it highly instructive. It drove home to him the realization that his brain and his heart were in rare syncronicity and were trying to convince him of something urgent and vital.

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Part Ten continues with Louisa preparing for a Valentine's Day meet-up with Martin ….


	96. Chapter 96

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety-Six

**Author's Note**: A Happy Valentine's Day to all Doc Martin fans around the world! As this chapter takes place on the evening of the Valentine's Day weekend, it seemed fitting to publish it on Friday rather than wait for the usual Saturday launch time (in Canada).

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Louisa stepped off of the curb, thought better of it and stepped back on again. This wasn't Port Wenn. This was central London, where you did not walk across a busy intersection when the traffic light had just turned from green to orange. Left and right turning cars and aggressive cabbies did not take kindly to pedestrians trying to beat the red light by scuttling onto the road when the orange light appeared.

Despite her hurry, she was already ten minutes late. Louisa remained cautious and patient while she waited another three minutes for the next cycling of the light back to green. Cautious and patient, two behavioural characteristics she wouldn't have thought herself possible of a full twelve months ago. So much had changed since this time last February, almost a year to the day in fact. Then she had been miserable, confused and lonely, alternately pining for Martin and relieved that they had mutually called off their wedding.

On Valentine's Day evening last year she had reluctantly gone on a dinner date with a handsome and wealthy lawyer that Holly had coerced and cajoled her into meeting. Louisa hoped that he had found somebody else; he seemed like a nice man. She hadn't been all that nice to him though: moody, distracted, fidgety, comparing his shiny leather shoes and bespoke suit to ones she had seen Martin wear many times. And now, three hundred and sixty-three days later, here she was pining for Martin again yet worried about what type of future they might have together. How much had they really changed in the past year? How much progress had been accomplished? Apparently tonight she would find out.

She slowed her pace then paused for a minute in front of the large department store on the corner. The huge plate glass window was brightly lit from behind in a vivid shade of red, illuminating the bleakness of an otherwise typical urban winter night. This store was famous for its creative window displays, especially at holiday times. This Valentine's Day provocative creation did not disappoint.

Louisa stood alongside the other admirers and marvelled at the lush style and innovative design showcased in front of them. The setting was either a posh restaurant or an elegant private dining room. The table for two was set with modernly styled silverware, fine crystal water goblets and champagne flutes topped with gold rims. Alongside the fuscia coloured linen tablecloth stood a silver-plated ice bucket with an uncorked bottle of champagne inside, the label prominently displayed to indicate its expense and quality.

On opposite mahogany and velvet covered chairs, borrowed from the store's heritage furniture collection, sat two good-looking mannequins. The male was dressed in a designer black tuxedo sporting velvet lapels, a burgundy bow tie and highly polished burgundy loafers. In his pale hand was an open blue velvet jewellery box, the store's signature brand. His rigid torso was leaning forward at the waist, offering the gift to his dining partner.

The female mannequin could see its contents but those spectators, standing outside in the cold, could not. The box itself was sharply tipped at such an angle so that its contents were left entirely to the imagination of the audience on the other side of the window. Louisa bet whatever piece of jewellery it was, it was bound to be pricey given that the store was famous for selling highly sophisticated and outrageously expensive pieces.

Judging from the female mannequin's pose, it was something she coveted; she was clearly pleased by the gift. This was suggested by the way her hand had been cleverly positioned against her cheek, as if in pleasurable surprise that this man measured his love for her in either diamond rings or emerald earrings. Her green velvet, off the shoulder, cocktail dress tightly fitted her beige plastic body, leaving her throat, ears and fingers naked, waiting expectantly to be adorned by whatever was in that tempting box. Given the outrageous height of her green brocade stiletto heels, it was lucky that her feet were made of plastic. Otherwise she wouldn't have been able to stand for more than ten minutes without experiencing considerable pain.

Louisa surveyed at all the trappings meant to indicate what inevitably must be a supremely romantic evening with a lovely conclusion planned: a large gold vase filled with dark red silk roses stood on the mantle; below it the fake fireplace blazed with its toasty electric fire; a set of brass candlesticks with electrically lit sparkling pink candles decorated the center of the dining table; a red velvet, heart-shaped box of chocolates displaying the house brand of champagne and raspberry infused truffles was positioned on a nearby side table.

The window dressers were geniuses. This scene was gorgeous; at once sultry yet tasteful. Traditionally romantic but given that neither mannequin wore a wedding ring, the viewers' minds were tactfully led to the logical conclusion that unbridled passion and a lovers' tryst was on the menu after the chocolates and champagne had been consumed. The hands of the brass clock on the mantelpiece were set at ten minutes to eleven. All indications were that the plastic couple would shortly be departing for an off-scene passionate bedroom seduction before the clock struck midnight.

The department store employees certainly knew how to set a lush mood that enticed passersby into stopping to shop. Louisa was suddenly aware of a stylishly dressed thirty-something couple talking beside her. The man put an arm around the woman's waist and whispered something in her ear. She laughed loudly and mumbled something back. They looked at each other knowingly and made their way eagerly into the store, likely highly motivated to buy something that had tickled their fancy in the window. Ah, the power of advertising.

She looked after them for a moment, feeling wistful. Who wouldn't like to have a romantic evening replete with roses, firelight, champagne and hand-dipped chocolates? A light rain started to fall. Louisa pulled her trench coat collar tightly towards her ears. She doubted whether Martin's hotel room would be full of roses and champagne when she arrived. Unlikely that a sumptuous and decadent four course dinner awaited either. Martin was hardly Mister Hearts and Flowers. Besides, maybe hearts and flowers wasn't what he had in mind tonight or for this Valentine's Day weekend. Maybe he was telling her goodbye.

Still, she would gladly forego all of those tangible trappings if he just had something promising to say, if he was at last freely ready to stake some middle ground. She would have to find some middle ground too; be ready to compromise, be flexible but not succumb. She didn't need whatever fancy piece of jewellery was tantinglizingly on offer to that female mannequin. She just wanted to hear him say nice things; nice things were nice to hear, lovely in fact. Unconditional promises of action were good too. They made you feel all warm inside and assured.

She only wanted to hear that Martin had chosen to make her part of a life that they would live and plan as equal partners. That would be a very nice thing to hear indeed, especially after a year in which he had finally found the courage to say many wonderfully nice things to her. That had been lovely; she knew how difficult that had been for him. No, she would gladly and resolutely forego everything laid out in front of her in this magnificently decorated shop window. She only wanted to hear him say that they would find a way to forge a mutually contented life together.

Louisa chewed on her lip for a moment, brushed a drop of cold rain from her face, gripped tightly the plastic handle of her suitcase and began to briskly walk the last block towards the hotel where Martin was staying. Stopping to gawk at the department store window had made her even later than she already was. Martin was a stickler for punctuality. As she approached the final intersection the traffic lights in front of her changed colour again.

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Part Ten continues next weekend with Louisa walking the final blocks towards Martin's hotel ….


	97. Chapter 97

Resolutions: Part Ten

Chapter Ninety-Seven

Louisa watched the traffic light on the diagonal corner change from green to orange to red. Wasn't that similar to her relationship with Martin? Green - rush forward; orange – proceed with caution; red – come to a dead halt, danger ahead, make absolutely no progress in a forward direction.

When the stoplight in front of her changed predictably to green she hurried across the intersection side by side with her fellow pedestrians as they plodded home on a Friday night after a busy work week or zipped off to take advantage of the cultural enticements offered by the London weekend nightlife. She had meant what she had said to Lindsay when they had spoken ten days ago. She had been proceeding with caution concerning her future. The traffic light at the Martin-Louisa intersection was stalled on orange, at least for now: proceed with care, exercise prudence, do not rush into a situation which could put oneself in harm's way.

She had admitted to Lindsay, rather ashamedly, that she was growing somewhat frustrated and more than a tad disappointed that Martin had yet to present her with even a possible compromise or a reasonable alternative to their divergent views on a life together. What was going on in that complex brain of his? It was now almost four weeks since she and Martin had the painful but revelatory conversation in his Liverpool flat and nothing as yet had been resolved. She could not lay all the blame at Martin's feet. If she was being completely honest with herself, she hadn't been terrific either at coming up with a satisfactory compromise.

Every time she had attempted to talk herself into never becoming a parent, she had instantly balked at the idea, knowing that it was a lie. If there were still opportunities for her to become a mother then she wanted to try. Every time that she had almost convinced herself that she could spend the rest of her days living contentedly in a central London flat, or at least the next fifteen to twenty years until Martin retired, she knew she would be homesick and miserable.

Was she being greedy? Perhaps? Was she being selfish? Undoubtedly. Her dream of a sun drenched cottage overlooking the sea with children and a dog tramping through while she and Martin tended to the welfare of their community, wasn't that a bit too idealistic? She knew she was asking too much of Martin.

But the reality of it was that as much as she loved Martin – and she absolutely did, life with him would always be a challenge. The past four years were evidence of that. His therapy sessions with Dr. Travers had pried open the lid on the tin labelled "Martin Ellingham". All sorts of good and delightful things had poured out; even more than she had originally suspected were contained in that tin. However she was under no illusions; Martin would always be Martin. She loved him because of and in spite of it. But when things got tough in his world or when their relationship hit the inevitable rough patches that most relationships do, he would surely withdraw into himself, shunning her and anyone else wanting to help him.

What he had shared with her about his upbringing, particularly in the past six months, gave her justifiable reason to worry. Martin's parents abhorred open displays of affection, sentiment or distress. They did not "talk", did not share with each other "how they were feeling". Whatever they felt, good or ill, remained bottled up inside, trickling out later in drips of cynicism and pronged acerbity. This was the model by which Martin lived. It was, quite simply, who he was.

He had already reluctantly admitted to her that he had suffered a mild depression after their non-wedding. She would want to help him if this happened again but feared he would shut her was the mirror opposite to her in many ways. She understood that this was part and parcel of who he was. Because of this, she would need to ensure that she did not begin to resent him, that she did not let her own headstrong stubbornness and overly judgmental behaviours pressure him into becoming someone different than he was. She had to stop trying to change him into someone he wasn't. Above all, she could not let herself become disappointed in or embittered about their relationship. That route would surely lead to divorce.

To ensure that none of this transpired, she must be happy or at least content with her own life; must have and do some of the things that were true to her own identity and her independence. Was this self-centred? Perhaps but she did not believe in the romantic notion that everything would work out just so long as she and Martin could be together. That wasn't real life, at least not in their narrative. It broke her heart to admit it to herself but she simply could not give up on so much of what she wanted. She hoped that Martin could comprehend that by this point in their relationship.

It worried her that perhaps he wasn't realizing it. At least he had given her no indication in the past few weeks that he was; which is why she was filled with such trepidation about this weekend. When he had telephoned last Sunday to remind her that he would be in London this Thursday and Friday to present at Imperial's monthly webinar for vascular surgeons and specialists across the country, she wasn't certain what was intended for her. A month was a long time not to see one another when your relationship was in jeopardy.

Martin had said that Imperial was putting him up at a very good hotel nearby to the hospital for the Thursday and Friday nights. He would be busy doing some final research at the hospital library and the medical school on Thursday afternoon and polishing his presentation in the evening. His webinar was scheduled for noon on Friday. He had to be at the hospital at ten for a technical run-through and a coffee 'meet and greet' with Imperial's Vascular Department. He was invited to lunch afterwards with the Head of the Department and several surgeons and, to an early dinner at a nearby restaurant with the Assistant Head who was also his former tutor. Would she meet him at his hotel after eight-thirty?

She hadn't been certain at first whether she was being invited just for the evening, to stay the night or the full weekend. She was embarrassed to ask, given their current status. Maybe Martin planned to break up with her and therefore wasn't intending to stay beyond Saturday morning in London? He hadn't asked if he could spend the weekend at her flat. Her usual insecurities flooded in. Maybe he just wanted her to visit for a few hours, just long enough to tell her in the privacy of his hotel room that they were finished, that he could not measure up to her weighty dreams and overreaching demands. Hadn't Lindsay once told her that she cast very high expectations on others? Perhaps Martin was truly better off on his own or with a woman more suited to his personality.

Martin could not have heard the anxieties thrashing round inside her head. He seemed oblivious to her worries. Of course, she now realized those had been unfair assumptions on her part; she and Martin had been talking on the telephone. He could not have seen that she was nervously chewing on her lip or biting a fingernail. Finally, as they were about to hang up, he had asked if she would like to attend a concert with him at Wigmore Hall on Saturday evening. It was only then that she realized that he must be keeping the room for the entire weekend and expecting that she would stay with him.

Even now though, as she pulled her small rolling suitcase behind her on the last block before his hotel, she still wasn't sure how to interpret the weekend. Perhaps he wanted them to have one final weekend together? Maybe staying in a luxury hotel was intended to soften the blow or forestall a messy public scene? Would he be telling her that she had to choose between his version of the future or hers? And if he did in the final analysis, after months of introspection and self-examination, decide to go his own route, could she really blame him? She hadn't been prepared to give up much either. She would not push him.

She was resolved to be gracious, whatever he said; if he chose to break up with her. She would be bitterly disappointed of course, heartbroken in fact. She could, oddly enough, empathize with him. Maybe the demands on either side were too monumental, too big to be accommodated? Thoughts of her mother, someone not frequently thought about, filled her head. Despite being born in Port Wenn, Eleanor had found it stifling, a trap. She had tried to live the life and the roles expected of her there. Over time she had become restless and resentful, finally bolting to Spain with her Spanish lover despite the pleas and protestations of her husband.

No, Louisa would not force Martin to live and work in Port Wenn. No marriage was better than a dismally unhappy one. Well then, perhaps they could part as friends, although she doubted that they would want to see each other again. After more than four years of fits and starts, after all of the emotional investments and divestments, it might simply be too excruciating and heartbreaking.

She would get on with her life. Of course she would. What other choice would she have? Three months shy of her thirty-ninth birthday; it was entirely possible that she would not follow the conventional path of marrying and then having children. That clock was ticking down fast. By the time she fell in love again it might too late for that. Maybe she would meet a man who already had children. Although the odds were less of finding someone prepared to live in an isolated coastal village.

Her mind backtracked to a thought she had glossed over: "By the time she fell in love again." Would that ever happen? If it did, she doubted it would ever feel like this; not with the depth, passion or force that she experienced with Martin. A love like this, of this rare and precious quality, seldom came along twice in a lifetime. She looked up at the final traffic light before she crossed the street to the hotel entrance.

Stop. Go. Proceed with caution.

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If Martin and Louisa were to marry or become permanent life partners, if they were to remain in the same little boat for the rest of their lives, then they must heed the lessons that others had tried to teach and help them learn over the past twelve months. Now was the time to vigorously take up their oars and wholeheartedly row together. Now was the time to move ahead in sync and without reservation. Otherwise they would forever be going round in circles, slowly going nowhere and getting frustrated fast.

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End of Part Ten of Resolutions

Thank you to everyone who has read this story. Part Eleven continues later when the author has time to write again and after watching Series 6 ….


	98. Chapter 98

**Resolutions: Part Eleven**

**Author's Note:** The Summer Solstice seems a good day to commence the next part of this three-year old story. Depending on where you live in the world it is the longest day of the year and thus a source of pleasure for many people. For the other half of the world, it is a day of hope and promise as the days finally begin to get longer.

A couple of things: First, readers should know that the positioning of the chapter breaks is not intended in any way to create a false sense of suspense or to needlessly prolong the plot. Part Eleven takes place all in one night and in the space of less than two hours. Thus Part Eleven is really just one big chapter spread out over a number of weeks.

Second, a very big thank you to all those who have had the patience and tenacity to stick with this story over such a length of time. Another large thank you to the fan fiction writers and readers who have convinced me to stay with the original plotline as completely and originally developed three years ago. After watching the painful deterioration of Martin and Louisa's relationship in Series 6, I wondered whether the next section of this story should be much darker. In the end, I had to be reminded that the Martin and Louisa of this story are the characters we knew at the end of Series 3 and even so, over the course of this story, have evolved and changed positively since that point in the canon.

Enough blathering on my part.

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**Chapter Ninety-Eight**

When the door opened to Martin's hotel suite, the first thing Louisa noticed was his large moon-shaped head rising over her, staring intensely back, a frown firmly set on his pallid face, his jaw tightly clenched. Not really portending a happy weekend, she surmised. Then again maybe she was rushing to judgement, an old habit of hers resurrected during intense moments of stress. A furrowed brow, pursed lips and clenched hands were par for the course with Martin Ellingham, even on his best days. They didn't always signify disapproval, were not always the harbingers of troubled waters ahead. Sometimes they were merely the outward reflection of a brewing inner turmoil or his absolute and intensely focused concentration. She desperately wished, for both their sakes, that it was the latter otherwise this evening and this weekend were going to be unmitigated disasters. She managed a tentative but genuine smile. It was so good to see him after all this time.

Noticing her grey trench coat dripping copious water molecules onto the carpet, he stated the blatantly obvious, his eyes anxiously scanning her hair and body. "You're wet."

Her smile instantly vanished. She had hoped for a more effusive welcome from him. "And hello to you too."

"Yes."

She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to shoot a second sharp retort his way, choosing instead to settle on a more neutral response. "Yes, it's raining again. Typical of this bloody weather, will it never stop?"

Silently she reprimanded herself. This was not the way she had intended to behave. She had, in her over excited and anxious mind, rehearsed several times today how she planned to greet him. It was all to be rather lovely and touching: as soon as he opened the door she would rush in, drop her purse, umbrella and bag, reach up to kiss him quickly on those big, sensuous lips of his, stroke his cheek and murmur how good it was to see him again. Like something out of a Hollywood movie; only it wasn't.

Possibly she had stood gazing for far too long in front of that Valentine's Day display at Selfridges. It had undoubtedly infused her with unrealistic romantic fantasies clearly not applicable to her present situation. She was annoyed with herself for her fanciful expectations, and paradoxically, somewhat disappointed that he hadn't swept her up in his powerful arms and gushed how much he had missed her. That would have been something indeed. Yes, but it also would not have been her Martin.

Instead here they both stood, awkward and tense, staring at each other and discussing something as banal as the weather. Put it down to nerves and how much was at stake tonight. Suddenly Martin's arms thrust upwards and outwards, his palms open. Was it her imagination or was he beckoning her towards his open embrace?

"Come in." He stepped backwards, allowing her to cross the threshold. "Here." He motioned. "Allow me to take your coat and umbrella before you develop a chill. The central heating in this room is inadequate."

"Uh huh." Always the clinician first instead of her lover. But then again, she reminded herself, that had always been his default behaviour whenever he was nervous or uncertain in her presence. Her default behaviour was to become frustrated and disappointed in his behaviour. Just like she was doing now.

He coughed. "The weather forecast is for more rain this evening then clearing in the morning with sunny skies in the afternoon."

Stiffly he held out his hands towards her, expectant. She glanced sympathetically at his strained face then passed him the umbrella and purse while she removed her trench coat, gingerly attempting not to spread the water droplets any further over the entranceway.

"I will hang these over the bathtub to dry." He gave her a curt nod and briskly strode down the little hall into the lavatory.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly as the tension momentarily dissipated because of his absence. She put a hand up to her hair to check the status of the bun. All appeared in place, all in order. She wished she felt as secure. Her courage was waning, a consequence no doubt of their disappointing first moments together. Perhaps she shouldn't read so much into it. Best to wait and see what actually transpired tonight. Patience and an open mind, not falling into old habits and behaviours, that was what she needed to do and what she had reminded herself all day. It was the same lesson she had been attempting to learn for the past year.

To quell the nervousness she distracted herself by surveying her surroundings. This was a good-sized room, especially for a posh hotel in central London where space was at a premium. It was a rare thing for her to stay in such luxurious surroundings. She took advantage of her moments alone to assess the geography of the layout. The living area contained a full-sized sofa, no doubt doubling as a pull-out bed for extra guests. Who knew whether that might come in handy for her if tonight did not progress well? As she stepped further into the room she could just spot off to the right of the lavatory, the open door of the bedroom. It looked like the bed was king-sized. Wouldn't that be helpful if tonight turned promising? It had been a month since they had been together and amongst the many things she had missed about him was the intimacy of both sex and sleep.

As soon as Martin entered the lavatory and out of Louisa's sight, he pressed his back against the tile wall and took three deep breaths, endeavouring to slow the rapid coursing of his heart and sympathetic nervous system. As he hung her purse on the tub faucet, he noticed the perspiration pooling on his hands. He hoped that she hadn't seen it. The last thing he wanted was for her to know how absolutely petrified he was.

He was annoyed with himself: in this moment of respite it occurred to him that he hadn't kissed her, hadn't even said hello, hadn't been able to muster a tiny smile. It had been his intention to kiss her soft cheek, to give her some indication of welcome, and to let her know in some subtle way, that she had been missed. He had planned out his course of action on his walk home from dinner tonight. But when he actually saw her standing in front of him, in the dazzling flesh, only minutes ago, his plan had completely vanished from his scattered brain. What must she think of him? He had been so utterly agitated that he had forgotten what he had intended to say to her. All that practising, all that effort, gone splashing down the drain. He needed to regain his composure.

Tonight was going to be tough enough as it was.

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**Part Eleven continues ….**


	99. Chapter 99

Chapter Ninety-Nine

**Author's Note:** Don't know if this hinders or helps your reading of Part Eleven: when creating and writing each chapter, I imagined myself as a silent and invisible observer in the hotel room. Often it helped me experience what Martin and Louisa were going through. It might increase your reading pleasure if you do the same when you read.

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After hanging up Louisa's coat over the bathtub, he checked his teeth in the mirror then, without realizing that he was doing it, straightened his tie for the third time in the past half hour. To make partial amends to her for his conduct, he took off his suit jacket and hung it neatly on the hanger behind the door. Louisa liked him to go jacketless when they were alone. She said it reduced his formality and increased their intimacy. To make her happy tonight he would comply.

As he re-entered the living area, he saw that she was bent over at the waist, busily removing her shiny black leather boots. The ones with the ridiculously high heels that he so disapproved of. How many times had he cautioned both she and Lindsay about bunions or a slip on a wet road? That silent reprimand was rapidly replaced in his cerebral cortex by an admiration for the suppleness and grace of her movements. He paused quietly to watch her bending down and straightening up as the boots were unzipped and taken off. He appreciated the fluidity of her long, lithe manoeuvres. He wondered whether she had taken ballet lessons as a child but doubted her father would have ever had the ready cash or the interest to drive her to the ballet school in Wadebridge. His thoughts momentarily strayed to Port Wenn and he frowned.

As she stood up, now conscious of his presence, she looked at him curiously and waited for him to say something. He cleared his parched throat.

"Here," he said gruffly, endeavouring to erase the flow of his ideas. "I brought this towel to wipe off your suitcase." He held it out to her at arm's length.

"Thank you," she replied politely, a hand once more nervously checking her hair. Was the whole evening to be like this? So much was riding on this weekend yet neither of them seemed capable of stringing two complete sentences together. Her throat felt like it was closing over.

"I was ten minutes late. Sorry." She blurted it out, feeling like a truant child trying to account for its bad behaviour.

"Fifteen. It's fine," he responded matter-of-factly. "It is difficult to be precise in your plans when they involve the London subway system." A hand opened and the fingers twitched. That should have come out as understanding her behaviour rather than a scold.

Was he chastising or excusing her characteristic tardiness? She couldn't tell which it was and determined not to pass judgment. She wasn't behaving all that brilliantly herself.

"Yea. I stopped to have a look at the Valentine's Day window display at Selfridges. It's gorgeous. Have you seen it? You must have walked by the store on your way to the hospital."

"I … um … didn't notice. Busy with my thoughts. Preoccupied with my webinar."

"Oh. Right." She felt slightly disappointed. "Not really your thing anyway." Had that come out as a rebuke? She hadn't meant it that way. Thank goodness she knew Martin well enough not to have expected to find a heart-shaped box of chocolate truffles and a fulsome bouquet of red roses waiting for her on the coffee table.

"No." He frowned, not quite knowing what to say but feeling that somehow he had let her down. This did not seem to be going at all well. It felt rather like a horror movie playing out in slow motion; two people trapped in a frightening situation that continued to excruciatingly spiral out of control. How were they to get through this night if they continued to walk on eggshells around each other?

He nodded in the direction of the sofa and chairs. "Would you like to take a seat?" That came out stilted too, as if he was preparing to perform a clinical examination on her. He wondered if her pulse was racing as fast as his own. She looked a tad flushed.

"Thank you." She realized that she still held the damp towel in her hand. Awkwardly she put it on the door handle of the nearby hall closet.

Martin stood frozen for a moment, discomfited by her habitual untidiness. He attempted to sound casual. "Why don't I put that out of your way?" He grabbed the towel and delivered it speedily to the lavatory.

She took the moment to miserably plunk herself down on one end of the sofa, awaiting his return. If they both remained so paralyzed with fear this evening then nothing good could come of it. She began to anxiously anticipate what might be going on in that complex brain of his. If he indeed planned to deliver bad news, she hoped he would get it over with quickly. She began to consider the worst case scenarios. Relax. Stop imagining what might not happen, she told herself. She put her hands out in front of her, pushing down the air, physically trying to force down her growing anxieties.

Martin re-entered the room and sat down heavily in one of the armchairs opposite her. Should he have sat beside her? She was sitting at one end of the sofa. Was that a signal for him to sit beside her? He was driving himself crazy second-guessing her behaviours. She had been here for almost ten minutes and neither of them had said anything of consequence. Maybe she was having trouble telling him the truth, not wanting to break it to him that she felt it best to go her separate way.

After an uncomfortable minute's silence she decided to take another tack. She looked around the room and remarked cheerfully, "This is nice."

"Mmm. It's been quite satisfactory and functional. Suitable to my needs. The dining room table was large enough for me to spread out my notes, journals and laptop while I was putting the finishing touches on my presentation last night. The fridge and microwave allowed me to eat in the ro-"

"That's good," she interjected. "How did it go?" With her mind preoccupied about their future, she had forgotten to ask and she knew it was important to him.

He was confused by her interruption. "What? How did what go?"

"The webinar," she said quickly, anxious to introduce a subject of conversation that would put him more at ease.

"Ah." His eyes lit up. The full transformation was remarkable. The furrowed brow was replaced with a relaxed forehead and on his pursed lips there was now something resembling a half smile. His hands unclenched. He looked younger, eager and engaged. He sat forward at the edge of his chair. "It went well. Satisfactory. Yes."

For the next four minutes he launched into a lengthy explanation on the subject. She really had no idea what he was talking about. It was a highly technical topic laced with terminology and procedures that she was not professionally equipped or trained to comprehend: something to do with the carotid artery and various types of blockages. She smiled and nodded when and where she guessed it to be appropriate. It was a brilliant summary told in relevant and colourful description but Louisa could hardly be faulted for allowing her thoughts to stray to the subject foremost on her mind …

How exactly, she wondered, does one approach this sensitive sort of negotiation, one where you are bargaining for your future happiness with a perspective lifemate? If indeed the evening was going to develop into a negotiating session or would it deteriorate into a series of angry unilateral statements of wants and demands uttered by one or both parties? Judging from his behaviour before escaping from the room with her trench coat and umbrella, Martin was as stiff, tense and uncommunicative as she'd seen him in a long while. Maybe he had already made up his mind and wasn't open to compromise.

Or would this negotiation process resemble a poker game? Should she remain stone-faced, giving away no clues regarding what she had to offer or was prepared to bid? Should she keep raising the stakes higher and higher just to see how far she could push the other player? And what exactly were the stakes? Was it spending five years in London in exchange for having a child? Absurd. When should she call Martin's bluff? When would she reach the point where it was advisable to fold her cards and walk away, fearing that the prize was not worth the perilously high stakes?

Or maybe it wasn't a game but more of a bargaining session, kind of like buying a new car? Her mind swirled faster and faster. She dreaded that type of bargaining; few people enjoyed it, feeling vaguely aware that they might be getting duped or tricked. The salesperson knows how much you want or need that car and approximately how much you can afford or are willing to pay. It's a mighty important transaction. Sure, the salesperson is willing to allow you to chip away at "the sale price", filling you with the illusion that you are making some headway. Ultimately though it is not you who is in charge of the process; you will pay dearly for what you want. But Martin wasn't some car salesman and neither was she. Surely they wouldn't behave that way tonight?

Hopefully not. This was neither a game of poker nor haggling over a car price. Nevertheless, the stakes were very high indeed. Both of them had much to offer and much desired in return. It would be trite to say that tonight mattered a good deal, that if they failed to come to some equitable and satisfactory resolution that it would lead to a painful conclusion.

"And so they made it very clear that they're interested in me provided, quite understandably, that the next seven go as smoothly as the first five."

Suddenly she realized that he was talking about something entirely different from blockages and arteries. She hadn't been paying attention to what he had been saying for the past couple of minutes.

"The first five what?"

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Part Eleven continues …


	100. Chapter 100

**Chapter One Hundred!**

_(who would have thought?)_

"The first five what, Martin?" she repeated anxiously, trying to ignore the butterflies swirling rapidly in her stomach.

He looked at her uncertainly, unsure of what to say next. He thought he had been quite clear and precise. "Months. Months left of my contract at the Royal Liverpool."

"Oh, yea. Right. Please go on." What was this about his contract? Obviously the medical lesson was over. He was on to something else and whatever it was, it had him considerably excited. She forced her mind back to the matter at hand, listening to him intently. She perched on the edge of the sofa cushion.

"It doesn't seem premature, does it? The haemophobia is well under control. The recertification examination was passed with ease. Soon I will be allowed to perform more complicated procedures. No more assisting and no more varicose veins. The research project is well ahead of schedule. So it does seem logical that Imperial would be interested, doesn't it?" His eyes were locked on hers; silently imploring her to agree with the overwhelming evidence he was laying at her feet.

She cursed herself for not having paid better attention to him earlier. "Imperial … is interested in you … for what exactly?"

Here she had been worrying about how they would negotiate their way through their various issues tonight when abruptly, without warning, a brand new factor had been introduced. What could Imperial Hospital have to do with any of this?

He didn't know why she was having so much trouble comprehending what he had just told her. He figured that he had explained it reasonably well. Perhaps she thought it was premature to put too much stock in the invitation from Imperial, that he was being grandiose and overconfident. He hadn't meant to sound that way. He valued her opinion and was seeking some form of assurance. Yet she seemed somehow reluctant to endorse his exuberance. Puzzled, his shoulders sagged and he deflated proportionately.

"No, you're right. It is too soon to get excited about even the prospect of someone being interested in me again, isn't it? It's just that … um … it's heartening to think that there are superior medical personnel out there who believe in my surgical capabilities again … especially after my having left things in rather a mess six years ago."

Louisa's hands gripped the arm of the sofa, her nails imprinting themselves onto the fabric. "Sorry. Could you just go over that part again about Imperial. Imperial wants to hire you for what?"

"No, of course they don't want to hire me. As I said, it's only an expression of interest. They broached it with me over lunch today and again at dinner this evening. Johnson, the assistant Chief, is set to retire at the end of the hospital's next fiscal year, next March. The Search Committee will start its preliminary inquiries in approximately six months time. Naturally there will be a formal and lengthy interview process but Imperial is quietly putting out the word now to a few select candidates in whom they're particularly interested."

She struggled to think logically, to not allow her emotions to overwhelm her reason and judgment. All the red lights were flashing in her head: surgery, Imperial, London. "But your contract with the Royal Liverpool ends September 30th? That would make a six month gap between jobs. What would you do in the interim?"

"True but there always was the option to have my position renewed for a second year, remember? It had been my decision to break it into two separate contracts … because our future was … unsettled … and you didn't want to come with me to Liverpool." Now was not the moment to mention her wanting him to return to Port Wenn as the village GP.

"I could talk to the hospital about extending the contract for another six months. They won't need me in Liverpool much longer after that. The last clinical trials will be complete by that point. I was hired primarily to assist with the administration of the trials and the data analysis. I could assist with drafting the final report from London by Skype and email and with the occasional trip to Liverpool. My role will be peripheral by then."

Her face fell. She could barely keep her jaw from dropping. "Oh. So … in a year and six weeks you might be the next assistant Chief of the Vascular Department at Imperial?"

"I could be, if I was the successful candidate. There will be others with equally as good or better resumes than myself."

"But probably not with your surgical or diagnostic talents." She uttered this out loud but was making the observation more to herself than to him. It flashed in her mind what Lindsay had once told her about a social worker friend of hers who had worked at the same hospital as Martin. Didn't she say that his reputation was legendary?

"Others have the same talents," he replied modestly. "I might have a slight edge though." He pressed his fingers together in a contemplative pose.

"Oh?" She wished she would stop saying that; it made her sound dumbfounded and shell-shocked. She could feel her stomach drop even further, anticipating more unexpected news.

"One of the members of the Search Committee was my former tutor at College."

"Great." She couldn't muster the enthusiasm she thought should be warranted; consequently the word came out flat. Hadn't Martin's Chief told her at the staff Christmas party that someone from Imperial was making inquiries about his progress?

"One more promising piece of information – "

"Yes?"

"I will be a strong candidate for the Chief's position in a few years. It's an open secret around the hospital that Oxley, the Chief, plans to retire when he turns sixty. Intends to take his wife on a three month cruise on the Queen Elizabeth 2 then write a book."

"I see."

She surveyed his face. His eyes were shining, lit by the pleasure that this news was affording him. The smallest of smiles crossed his face, making him look more at ease and less strained than he had for months. And why not? He had worked extremely hard to resurrect the career he had loved. He richly deserved this victory; he had most certainly earned it. She should have the good grace to support him, be pleased for him. Even if it meant all hope evaporating of their return together to Port Wenn, the idealistic couple that were going to once again tend to the welfare of her beloved village for years to come.

Now it would be her choice whether she wanted to live and work in London as the wife of a busy surgeon who doubled as the Chief of a prominent and bustling department. Likely she would barely see him, except fleetingly on weekends. Between surgery, clinics and meetings, he would be buried under mountains of administrative paperwork. Having been a Head Teacher, she knew just how much paperwork an administrator had to contend with. The difference was that she could take hers home with her at night and on the weekends, and, home was only an eight minute walk. She imagined that being Department Head at a major British hospital would entail far more paperwork, meetings and attendance at numerous national and international conferences.

Her mouth and throat went completely dry as she slowly began to work out the various implications of this unexpected piece of news. She felt off kilter; stunned by what he had just told her. Never, in all of the scenarios that had played out in her mind regarding how tonight would unfold, never had she anticipated or imagined this. She could only continue to hold tight to the armrest as if it was a life preserver tossed amidst a tumultuous sea.

"It sounds absolutely marvellous, Martin. More than you could have dreamed of when we sat in Caroline's house last summer discussing the Royal Liverpool's offer." She did her best to smile, to be as gracious as she could muster in defeat. He had made his choice.

"Indeed. It's a vote of confidence in my abilities anyway. Proof that my skills are still there. That's what pleases me the most. That I can still do it and that the haemphobia is no longer a roadblock to my future." He looked so delighted. There was a spark within him that she had never witnessed during his days as a GP. In an instant his face grew more serious. "There is something more I need to tell you – "

She felt her stomach turnover again and abruptly held up a hand to stop him. "May I first have a glass of water, please? Then we can continue with your exciting news."

"Of course. I should have offered you something when you came in. I was a little … nervous, to be honest ... about tonight. Would you like me to make tea instead?"

"What? No thanks. Water's fine for now."

He got up and went over to the small kitchenette. With his back turned away from her, she had time to collect herself. She suppressed a momentary urge to sob, to completely cry out her heart. She was torn: wanting to be glad for him, alternatively wanting to pretend that none of this had happened. She laughed bitterly at the thought of the plastic couple sated with champagne, chocolates and romance in the Selfridge's window. They never had to deal with the harsh realities of real life.

For a fleeting moment she felt the need to bolt; to get out of this arid and suffocating room as fast as possible. The flight or flight response, wasn't that what psychologists called it? Well, she wasn't about to adopt her usual habit of fleeing. She had spent months teaching herself not to run away from her problems with Martin.

Nor would she adopt the other classic response. She had no intention of fighting with Martin or berating him for wanting what he wanted even if it conflicted with her own hopes and desires. It was his life, his choice and his career after all and, this was an extraordinary offer; he likely wouldn't receive better. They both had assumed that if he remained a surgeon and, if he went to London that a senior appointment wouldn't be offered to him for some years, let alone one of the top positions in the field.

She had been his main support, his best friend, isn't that what he had called her in October? On many levels she was thrilled for him, even if she wasn't for herself. She would need to think about what this meant for her own future with or without him.

"Here."

She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn't realized that he was standing over her, holding a small glass of water and scrutinizing her as she chewed her lip.

"Thank you." She took two long gulps, almost finishing it and put the glass down on the coffee table. "Guess I was thirsty."

He nodded, still watching her curiously. "It's dry in here. Must be the central heating."

He sat down beside her on the sofa, straightened his tie and fidgeted with his watchband. He stared at her and she looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes just yet with her own, scared what they might reveal and expose. She brushed away a strand of hair and attempted to look positive, masking her own disappointment.

She gently put her hand on top of his, a sign of encouragement and support. She felt better when she spoke next and was able to say with complete sincerity, "It's wonderful. Really, Martin. I'm so pleased for you."

"It sounds as if you've already made up your mind to go for it – to prepare yourself to apply for that position at Imperial and accept it if you are the selected candidate."

"No."

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This story continues …


	101. Chapter 101

Chapter One Hundred–and-One

She figured that she mustn't have heard him correctly. Her head was buzzing. Her next word was emphatic.

"No?"

He moved forward on the sofa cushion and nudged closer to her. He wanted to be absolutely clear and unequivocal in what he explained next. He felt his shoulders tense so sharply that he thought they might spasm. He took a moment to breathe deeply in and out.

"No."

She turned directly towards him and put a hand flatly on his chest, feeling the warmth within. "But Martin, isn't that what you always wanted? To be at the top of your profession again?"

He felt the intimacy of her gesture and the importance of the moment. "I thanked them for the opportunity but declined to be considered for the position. I said I had other plans."

"What! You turned them down?" She put her hand up to her forehead, puzzling it out. How could this possibly be? It made no sense. It was incredible. Obviously she was in shock and had misheard. People in shock did not hear right.

"I did. I realize that you don't want to spend the next fifteen years trapped in London. Therefore I don't either."

It was difficult for him to verbalize what he had been ruminating about since the night of his visualization exercise and his dream. It was a struggle just to pump out the words.

"Look, after we didn't get married, when there seemed no viable chance of a reconciliation and you moved to London, the only thing I wanted was to resume being a surgeon again. It was the only prospect I could think about, the only thing to hang on to. It was the only option that made any sense. Since I had ultimately failed with you, perhaps I could at least salvage something positive from the vestiges of my miserable life. If you hadn't come back last summer and made the effort to try again, then likely I'd be a surgeon in Liverpool now and frothing at the bit to try for the Imperial job."

But?"

He didn't answer immediately. She could see that he was exhausted from the effort expended and the emotions exposed. This speaking in paragraphs instead of half-sentences and monosyllables was taxing him. She waited a moment then gently touched his hand, imploring him to go on, in spite of his need to gather himself. The suspense was proving too much for her imposed self-restraint.

She prodded him, "And now?"

"Now? It no longer seems as important as it once did. You seem … no … you are … more important to me."

Clutching his hand, almost physically hurting him with her unbridled urgency, she exclaimed, "Are you certain? Won't you regret it later? Resent me for standing in your way?"

"No. That won't happen. Working at St. Thomas' or Imperial isn't necessary any more. For a large part of my adult life I thought that the only thing I wanted and would have, was a successful career working in the top hospitals. That's no longer true. I want more now. I know that I am capable of more, perhaps even deserve more. Foremost I want you … a life with you."

He was resolute. She had sensed it when he spoke. As he felt her release the clutch on his hand, he slowly intertwined his large fingers around her slender ones. "Could you really see yourself spending the next fifteen or twenty years in London?"

"Could I do it? Yes. Do I want to? Honestly I wish I could answer yes but I can't. Last summer I hoped that I could convince myself that it wouldn't matter. I pictured myself living and working here; not seeing my Cornwall friends except on school holidays; not having a having a daily view of the sea; not seeing you on evenings, weekends and holidays when you were working but …" Her voice trailed off wistfully.

"I thought so."

"I've tried hard to make it so but it's not for me. If tonight is the night for heartfelt confessions and bald truths then I guess I have to confess that I am one of those people who want to live in the place where they grew up."

Sadly she shook her head; sorry that she could not give him the answer that she knew he would have liked to hear.

"Don't apologize. It took me quite some time to realize it but I do now. You belong in Port Wenn. It's your home."

He looked down at the carpet. "I've never really felt at home anywhere. Certainly not living with my parents. Maybe at Joan and Phil's farm but that wasn't permanent. Often I found myself nervously counting down the days until I would have to go back to London and dreading it. I think … no … I know … that I would feel at home living with you. And I do hate Port Wenn but it's where I want to be. Because of you. Because that's where you will be happiest."

The magnitude and generousity of what he was offering to do had not fully hit her yet. At some vague intellectual level, she understood it but emotionally she was overcome and stunned. She moved over on the sofa, as close to him as she could possibly get. Saying nothing, she drew herself up onto her knees so that her face was level with his. She slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself into him. He moved one of his arms so that it circumnavigated her waist and held onto her tightly. She coiled one arm up and around his head and pulled her face closer, laying her cheek against his.

They stayed like this, almost immobile. So close that they could take the measure of each other's heartbeats; silent except for their breathing. There was a momentary peace and sense of gratitude between them. Each had something valuable, almost priceless and unquantifiable, to bestow upon the other. This was the give and take that was necessary for them to progress.

Shortly though, serenity was interrupted by another practical reality. Reluctantly she pushed her face away and back a few inches from his. She needed to fully understand the implications of his decision.

"But what will this mean for your career? At best, your contract with the Royal Liverpool lasts another year and a half, seven months if you don't renew it. What will you do afterwards? Your cottage and your practice are only engaged until the end of September. Do you intend to come back to Port Wenn and become its GP again?"

He gauged the eagerness in her voice. Herein lay the tricky part, how to broach the next subject matter with her. He must do it immediately so as not to raise her expectations or give her time to construct false hopes. Part of him hated to do it. He watched her smiling so broadly at him, that particular grin that almost filled her entire face. She looked so pleased that they weren't going to live in London. He knew her head must be churning with the joyous prospects of what this could portend. He needed to summon the courage to speak to her fully and plainly. Anxiously he rubbed his hands together, over and over. Finally he looked up at her, hesitant and apprehensive.

"Louisa, I know I am about to disappoint you but I have to tell you … it's … uh …" He stopped, the words catching in his throat, unable to come out.

Something else was acutely worrying him. She needed to know. "Yes, Martin. Please, go on."

"I'm not quite sure how to say this. I'm … concerned … worried … about what your response will be. You might be very disappointed in me."

He looked like an anguished child. He had played and replayed this part in his mind all week and had misgivings about how the scene would unfold. Perhaps she would cry, shut herself in the lavatory for the next hour or worse, leave the hotel suite altogether and not come back. Never come back.

Seeing his distress and despite her best attempts to remain restrained and calm, she cried out, "But that's no good, is it? Honestly tonight we have to be brave, both of us. Let the words flow out. Say what we want to say. Otherwise it's not going to get us anywhere. Neither of us can afford to remain silent or to hide. We've got to face it, all of it. Tell each other everything."

He clapped his hands together as if in supplication. "I don't want to be a GP again. Not in Port Wenn. Not anywhere. I know it's what you want – for things to go back to the way they were a year ago. I also haven't forgotten the promise that I made to you in August. That if you were still unhappy living and working in London then I would reconsider resuming my duties as the village GP again. The truth of it is that, having had a taste of it again, I do want to remain a surgeon. I suppose what I am asking is for you to now release me from that promise." His eyes implored her to reconsider the prospect.

She cocked her head to one side and looked at him perplexed. "But if you aren't going to stay in Liverpool or work in London as a surgeon, what is it that you plan to do?"

"Find a position as a vascular specialist as close to North Cornwall as I am able."

"Oh." She said it so quietly that he barely heard her.

Understanding that she would need time and space to absorb his confession and plea, he asked, "Would you like me to refill your glass of water or would you prefer some tea?"

"What? Oh. Tea, I think. Something that won't keep me up tonight if possible." She was too preoccupied to care what she drank.

"There is camomile." He removed his arm from around her waist.

"Yes. Good. That's good." She smiled briefly but her brow furrowed as she absorbed his revelation.

He got up from the sofa and walked over to the kitchenette. He shot her a quick glance, just to ensure that she was alright. He felt his stomach constrict. She seemed to be. She was very still, pensive and staring into space. He suppressed a desire to walk over and stroke her cheek. She needed to be alone to process her thoughts.

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This story continues ….


	102. Chapter 102

**Chapter One Hundred And Two**

How much should you expect, even demand, from your life partner or spouse? How far should you ask them to compromise in order to please you? Now faced with new factors, these were the questions with which Louisa promptly began to wrestle. After hearing Martin's confession, she found herself surprisingly less shocked than she would have expected. With Martin busying himself in the tiny kitchenette, she had time to assess, evaluate and sort out her roiling emotions.

That he no longer wanted to remain a surgeon was something that, in her heart of hearts, she must have subconsciously known and quietly conceded to herself gradually over the past few months. It would be emotionally and intellectually dishonest to both her and Martin to deny it now. However much she might want it to be untrue, she could readily perceive and acknowledge that as a surgeon Martin was in his element. His Chief at the Royal Liverpool had said as much at the staff Christmas party. That Imperial had invited him to produce a webinar less than five months after resuming surgery, was a good indicator that they thought so too.

She herself had witnessed the shift in his demeanour since Autumn: his eagerness to get to the hospital in the mornings; the quiet pride and confidence he exuded; the intellectual fascination he exhibited at learning or updating a surgical technique; while he still characterized his patients as "bodies", sometimes he actually referred to them as "people" and only occasionally as "morons" or "idiots". Despite the fact that he might have excelled at many occupations from scientist to clockmaker, it was blatantly obvious to anyone who chose to look with unbiased eyes and temperament, that surgery was both his forte and his penchant.

If then he was so unhappy as a GP in Port Wenn, why had he stuck it out for so long? Louisa theorized that it was mostly down to two powerful motivators: attachment and fear. The unabating attachment was partially to Joan and largely to herself. The overwhelming fear stemmed from the imprisoning paralysis of his haemophobia coupled with the consequent shame and corresponding disappointment it germinated within him. His reluctance and anxiety to confront both its symptoms and the root causes had effectively chained him to a village and to a life he apparently despised.

Her initial assessment of him had been incorrect. He had not happily moved to the quirky village because of its close communal spirit, relaxed way of life or ocean breezes. She had envisioned him as the heroic physician able to save lives and cure illness in a way that old Dr. Jim Sims had never been able. However, being general practitioner to one thousand souls had not been the preferred next rung on Martin's career ladder, never the location where he intended to permanently settle. It had been the cave required to hide out and to eventually heal himself.

As she watched Martin steeping the tea and washing the mugs, her mind reverted to the immediate issue at hand: his confession, more of a plea really, for her to accept him as he was, not to leave him in spite of it. Was she prepared to accept without rancour and resentment his wish to abandon the idyllic life in Port Wenn that she dreamed of? If she was then it must be because she unreservedly wanted to, not because she felt pressured or forced into it.

He was a man of honour and integrity; that would undoubtedly mean he would return to general practice if she was determined to extract that price from him. He would give up, probably without complaint, the opportunity of a lifetime to be with her. Would he enjoy it or feel fulfilled? Unlikely, if his past history and behaviour were any indication. He didn't display the same love for general practice that he did for surgery. As for being part of village life, well, he had hardly immersed himself in it, keeping as solitary and monastic an existence as was possible. For Louisa, these were now incontrovertible and unavoidable facts.

If then he was willing to do all of that again for her then she too must be willing to give up something in return. If she wasn't then she must be prepared either to see him suffocating and frustrated in Port Wenn for years to come. Or she must end their relationship.

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Martin took his time making the tea. Had he been a barista in a bustling coffee shop, he would have been fired for his inefficiency. Fortunately he was not. He was standing in a hotel room in central London waiting for the love of his life to decide his future. He would gladly give her all the time she needed, even if the piping hot tea turned stone cold.

Pouring the water into the kettle, it struck him how much his life had changed in the past twelve months and how much he had been transformed by it. Imperial's interest in him and the prospect of a top position in his field, should have been the highlight of his week. Instead he had been more exhilarated about seeing Louisa again after a month's absence. Oh, he was very pleased about the success of the webinar and Imperial's vote of confidence. It was simply that there was something, someone actually, more important to think about, someone who captivated his thoughts. It had been years since a person had taken precedence over any one thing or event in his life; decades since a human being had filled that void.

When he had opened that hotel door and saw Louisa standing there looking up at him, he knew exactly who and what he wanted. There had been no vacillation, no prevarication, no wavering. Five years ago it would have been very different. His career was all consuming then; it had been the only thing he had considered himself good at. It had been sufficient. Until he met Louisa, it had been the only thing he wanted. At age forty-two, he hadn't expected life would ever dain to offer him any more and he probably didn't deserve it anyway.

In the past six months he had incrementally come to understand that life or fate had granted him a second chance with Louisa. Or more precisely, that Louisa had offered him a second chance. He would neither squander nor waste the opportunity nor would he abuse her faith in their relationship or in him.

He had mistakenly believed after their reconciliation that she wanted the same things from life that he did: freedom from the constraints of living in a fish bowl of a village; the anonymity, stimulation and opportunities that living in one of the world's greatest cities could provide; a career teaching at one of the best schools in her field; an existence without the problems and restraints of children and familial obligations.

It had frightened him greatly to realize that night in December at the Lifeboat Society fundraiser and again when they had quarrelled over the rambunctious boy in the grocery store in January that he had been wrong. Tonight was the night to rectify this.

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The tea had been steeping for too long: it would be overly strong and probably lukewarm. Surprisingly he did not care. Absentmindedly he poured it into the two mugs and briefly stole a glance over his shoulder hoping she would not catch him spying on her. She had shifted positions on the sofa, now facing the middle part of the cushions, her legs curled up underneath her, one arm over the sofa back, her chin resting on an upturned elbow, her eyes steadily watching his movements.

"Tea's ready," he said nervously and cleared his throat.

His shaking hand added milk to her mug. He carried both beverages over to the coffee table and set them down. He sat next to her.

"Thank you."

She took a small sip, too distracted to notice either the taste or the temperature. She put her mug down.

"Yes," he mumbled, afraid of what she might say next.

He placed his hands uncharacteristically under his knees so she would not see them tremble.

She studied him closely again, frowned and tightly placed a hand on his forearm.

"Martin, are you sure about this? I mean are you really sure this is what you want?"

What he wasn't at all sure about was her question. "I'm sorry. I have no idea how to answer that. Being a surgeon, is that what you mean?"

"No. I think I understand that."

"You do?"

He stared at her for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to read her face.

He said softly, "I thought you would be angry."

"Why? Because you want a career doing the thing that you love and excel at? I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't understand that and stood in your way, considering I wish for the same thing for myself. If you had wanted to remain a GP you would have done so. If being a surgeon again had only been about proving to yourself that you could conquer the haemophobia and do surgery, you would know that by now. You love being a surgeon, don't you?"

He appeared relieved as if one burden of many was off his shoulders. But he needed to understand her motives.

"Yes." He nodded. "Are you absolutely certain you can face me not resuming the life I had when you first met me? It won't be the same, you know."

"And maybe that's a good thing."

He shook his head, still not fully comprehending.

"Martin, maybe it's time for me to let go of that fantasy: you being the brilliant, ever vigilant, heroic GP and us ministering together to the welfare of Port Wenn, a team integral to the community. That was always my dream, not yours, never what you wanted for yourself. You've done brilliantly with resuming your surgical career. How can I ask you to give up everything that you have worked so hard to regain?"

"Okay." He exhaled slowly, not realizing that he had been holding his breath throughout her speech. The tension in his shoulders decreased marginally. "Okay."

"The main reason you are giving up the possibility of Imperial is because of me, isn't it?"

"Yes. You belong in Port Wenn. Being without you is no longer an option. Imperial. London. Neither of those places is as important anymore."

"And I'm grateful, really grateful for that. To be going home again, it's … well … it means the world to me. I've been so worried that it might never happen."

She put her hands on his cheeks, holding his moon shaped head in a gentle vice grip and held her fingers purposely there for a moment as a prelude to kissing him deeply on the lips. He was enthralled by her, felt his pulse quicken and his blood rush. He slid both arms around her slender upper back, holding her as tightly as he could, not wanting to let her go now that he had finally found her again. He let her take the lead, her lips tightly pressing against his own, allowing them to express what she could not adequately put into words.

When he could restrain himself no longer, he returned the kiss with equal intensity, almost bruising her lips in the process and still she did not pull away. She let out a sigh or was it a gasp or a moan? In the fog quickly filing his brain, he could not properly discern but recognized it as a primal sound born of human contentment and desire. Finally when the need to breathe more fully became the necessary priority, reluctantly they allowed their passion to subside and sat back on the sofa, arms around each other, smiling, reaping the rewards of their efforts.

She stroked his hair but then her smile faded once more and she looked at him sternly, remembering that there was still much to discuss.

"But what about you? This isn't going to be easy on you. After all, you can't be a surgeon in Port Wenn. What are you going to do?"

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This story continues (hopefully next weekend) …


	103. Chapter 103

**Chapter One Hundred And Three**

**Author's Note Of Explanation: ** Some readers wonder why Louisa can't simply agree to live in London. Conversely, others wonder why would Martin prefer to be a surgeon again rather than a GP. Does this mean the demise of their relationship because neither character gets everything they want and exactly as they wanted it?

The simple answer is no. The actual plot decisions were made three years ago and the story has always progressed and been crafted with those decisions in mind. The choices made reflect only what this particular Doc Martin fan thought might and could happen based on viewing the tv show. Numerous other alternatives would have been entirely plausible. Most everyone views this excellent tv series through a slightly different lens.

Regardless, this story is foremost about the progression of the conflict resolution skills and the communication skills and the self-awareness that both Martin and Louisa have learned since the day of their non-wedding. Where they live and what they do with their careers is secondary to the story's central premise: that they have learned how to work effectively together as a couple; to compromise, negotiate and to actively listen to one another. Because they have been motivated to do so, they are now equipped to face the challenges before them that life inevitably presents.

**HAPPY THIRD ANNIVERSARY!** To mark the occasion, two chapters this weekend.

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The barometric pressure in the room had moderated. The tension that previously threatened, like great storm clouds, had finally been diffused. Both Martin and Louisa had begun the evening with brains stuffed full of worst case scenarios and dire predicaments. Eventually and incrementally, each had recognized that they had something of immense value to offer to their loved one and were cognizant of having been offered something equally precious in return. That atmospheric shift had swept out the calamitous fears, doubts and anxieties that had threatened to capsize them. A surfeit of fresh air had blown in. The wind gusts were calmer, the choppy waves subsiding. Martin and Louisa were both in the same little boat now; they knew it and inwardly rejoiced.

Water offers resistance when the rower pushes their oar through it. It is strenuous work manoeuvring the oar through the water but that resistance translates into the force required to drive the boat forward.

Together this couple was stronger than as lone individuals, now united and steering in the right direction, heeding the shoals and the rocks, learning how to navigate around these obstacles when they loomed ahead. Martin and Louisa were rowing together as good sailors do, stroke after stroke in sync, no longer in danger of capsizing or sinking.

Martin had learned to shorten his stroke so as to prevent their rowboat from going round and round in circles, to listen to his rowing partner and to work in tandem. Louisa had learned how to properly navigate, to watch for the danger signs, to carefully call out the specific stroke necessary to deftly move them forward, to communicate clearly to Martin when to paddle and when to speed up or slow down without unnecessarily taxing him. She no longer felt the urge to abandon ship or scream commands. He no longer felt that he was drowning or rudderless.

Had they still a way to go before reaching land? Most certainly. But they had become a team, unified in their direction, connected and confidant. There was a pervasive sense of accomplishment and achievement as they deftly pushed forward. This welcome knowledge buoyed their little craft as it swiftly and safely headed for land.

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"So it will be the Royal Cornwall then? Your consultant's position will be in Truro?"

"No." He shook his head reluctantly. "Doubtful that a posting will come vacant anytime within the next few years. I realize that is something that you didn't want to hear."

"No. Are you sure there won't be a vacancy?"

She chewed anxiously on a finger nail. He looked down at his shiny shoes. Facts were facts and could not be changed simply by wishing differently.

"Fairly certain. I've been thinking about this decision for the past couple of weeks. Chris Parsons did some nosing around on my behalf. The Royal Cornwall has a rather small vascular department, only four surgeons. They are all men and women in their thirties and forties with young families and they have settled into the area with apparently no immediate plans to leave."

"I see. Right. So what then?" Her brain took a moment to absorb the disappointment then quickly scanned the less obvious possibilities of nearby hospitals. "The Royal Devon and Exeter? The West Cornwall in Penzance? The Stratton in Bude?"

He shook his head again. "Further afield I'm afraid. There isn't much of a choice. Those are all relatively small hospitals with a full range of arterial and venous services but with only small departments of four or less vascular surgeons."

"So you will need to look more than a fair distance from home then … I mean from Port Wenn?"

"Can't be helped. At least time is on my side. With seven months left in my contract and the possibility of an extension, there is some leeway."

"Yea?"

He noted her unease. "There is some promising news at least. A rather good option. Something I wanted to discuss with you before making further inquiries."

These decisions were no longer his alone to make; they were to be made in concert with her. He hoped that she would see them the same way he did.

"Okay. Go ahead then."

Whatever was coming next, at least they would decide it together. He wasn't shutting her out or making the decision unilaterally. This was something new and took some of the sting out of realizing that he wouldn't be within easy driving distance of home.

"Have you heard of the British Vascular Surgery Network?"

"The what?"

"Er … no, I didn't think so. Our department at the Royal Liverpool is a member. It means we communicate and share knowledge, resources and research with other vascular consultants and vascular specialists throughout Britain. The Network brings researchers and other partners together to examine the key diseases affecting blood vessels and how circulation problems affect illnesses such as heart disease, stroke, dementia, kidney failure and eye were a co-sponsor of today's webinar."

"Uh huh." Martin speaking in a paragraph again meant he was preparing her for something important.

"You are familiar with the Derriford Hospital in Devon?"

"Sure. It's in Plymouth. A large complex. We've had students and villagers go there for advance testing and surgical procedures that were beyond the resources and expertise of the Royal Cornwall."

He warmed to the subject, hoping he could persuade her to its merits. "Yes. They also have a very good vascular department. The Derriford was designated as the major trauma centre for the Peninsula Trauma Network with responsibilities for all of Devon and Cornwall. The most challenging cases are airlifted there. As a result the vascular department has a larger compliment of surgeons, eight in total. There is also a medical school, the Peninsula Medical School. It has satellite teaching centres in other places, including Truro. The hospital, as a major regional centre, has almost a thousand beds and is also rapidly developing as the West Country centre for medical research. Imperial thinks quite highly of their Head of Vascular. I discussed it with my tutor this evening."

"Sounds interesting." She could now comprehend where this was going and understood his keenness.

"As it happens, one of their vascular consultants is considering a move to Yorkshire in the near future. His wife is from the Dales and wants to be closer to an ailing parent."

"So a position might open up within the year?"

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This story continues tomorrow...


	104. Chapter 104

**Chapter One Hundred And Four**

"Yes."

Her whirling mind, still endeavouring to process this turn of events, swung first to the practical issues. "But what about the drive? I've done it a number of times. The roads are good but it's about seventy-five minutes if the weather's reasonable and the roads aren't clogged with tourists."

"There is that."

"Yea but you can't do that every day. Not a seventy-five minute commute both ways."

"Lots of people who work in central London but live in the outer suburbs do that length of commute daily on the Tube. People who commute by train do it so their families can live in affordable villages and towns an hour away from the city. People who live in the outlying areas skirting London, New York and Toronto do it regularly. I'd hardly be an anomaly."

"Yea but they don't have to drive themselves and then perform surgery afterwards."

"No but I would prefer to drive myself and be alone in my car rather than cheek by jowl with some obnoxious, acne infested, snotty teenager with horrible music blasting out of his earphones. Or worse, a sneezing, coughing businessman infecting me with the latest virus of the week while a dirty bus crawls through Cornwall and Devon at a snail's pace."

"I understand that. But you can't drive at night when there are sheets of rain pouring down on the road or blankets of fog drifting off Bodmin Moor."

"No," he said glumly."The weather is a foreseeable and formidable obstacle."

"I wouldn't want you to either. And on days when you have to be in theatre early in the morning, I won't have you getting up at four-thirty to be in time for a seven o'clock pre-surgical scrub. You can't exhaust yourself just to be in my bed every night."

"It's unlikely that I would be performing surgery on a daily basis. Unless it's an emergency, it's more likely two or three days a week, with eight surgeons on staff. Most of the time it's rounds, assessments, consultations, pre-and post operative examinations. Besides, this fellow who is planning to leave, he's got an associate professorship at the medical school. Considering my previous teaching experience, I will be requesting to replace him. With my research background I might be able to generate some grant money for the department. My time would be a mixture of varied activities."

"Good. But even with that type of a schedule, presuming that is what actually happens, you are still going to be tired at the end of a full day."

"True, there will be some nights when I feel like that. But doubtful that it will be a regular occurrence."

"Maybe you should consider staying over on those nights? When you feel you shouldn't drive."

"It might be prudent for me to rent a small flat near the hospital where I could stay overnight when the weather's bad or I have an early morning. Would that be difficult for you? Is it too much, my not being home every night?"

"Far better than worrying about you falling asleep while driving and having an accident. It's not ideal but I have lots of friends whose spouses and partners travel for work. This is not much different, especially considering that I want to be solidly rooted in Port Wenn and not in Bodmin or someplace closer to Plymouth." Practical considerations must trump the romantic.

"In the winter it might be for part of each week."

"I know. The weather can be brutal in these parts at that time of the year. But you'd be home on weekends and hopefully a couple of weeknights."

"Definitely weekends especially considering I'd only be on weekend call once every two months. We would have uninterrupted weekends, something I rarely had as the lone GP in the Port Wenn area. Working longer on nights I stay in Plymouth might get me home earlier on Friday afternoons."

He placed one hand tentatively on her wrist. "Would you like some more time to think about it? Right now it's just an idea, not necessarily going to happen."

She could gauge from the earnest look on his face just how much he wanted her approval. She drew a long breath before speaking.

"No. You should go for it. Really go for it. Let them know that you would be interested. Okay then. If you get the job, we will manage to get it all properly sorted over time."

"Good."

He smiled at her, a rare, full smile that lightened his face and made him look far more relaxed than he had for most of the evening. Perhaps it was the injection of optimism that pervaded the air, replacing the scent of dread that had consumed him this past month. He nodded, squeezed her wrist and got up to remove the tea mugs and to give her a minute to think everything through. He paused, put the mugs back down again on the table and sat beside her once more. She looked up at him, speculating about what was brewing now in that giant brain of his.

Curling one hand around her shoulders, he drew her into him, touched her cheek with his other hand then kissed her softly. As he deepened the kiss, his hand moved up to the back of her head, enclosing her in an embrace so intimate that she could feel the pressed movements of his chest as his lungs alternatively filled and emptied of air.

After he had finished thoroughly kissing her, he gazed up with widened eyes. "Thank you," he murmured. Without looking at her again, he stood back up, satisfied, and took the mugs over to the sink.

She leaned back languidly on the sofa, regained her breath and ran a hand distractedly over her hair to fix the disruption produced by his wandering fingers. How could she possibly say no to him now? He was prepared to move back to north Cornwall for her and to give up the anonymity of London. As she thought more about it, she could see that he would be reasonably happy at the Derriford and in Plymouth. With his credentials he would be a strong candidate for the job. They would be lucky to get someone of his calibre.

Being at a major trauma centre would give him a challenging caseload and the opportunity to utilize top level resources and interact with talented personnel. It wasn't on par with Imperial but it would suffice as an acceptable compromise, certainly with more scope than some of the nearby hospitals could offer him. There were the possibilities of research and teaching too, if things worked out.

His working and staying over possibly a few nights a week in a city of six hundred thousand people would give him some respite from the unavoidable fishbowl of village life. And he would no longer be pestered by villagers asking him for medical advice after hours and the minute he stepped out of their house. Certainly the time he was with her would be of a superior quality, without the annoyances and inconvenient interruptions of medical complaints and emergencies. He might actually get some peace and perchance develop more cordial relationships with at least a few of the villagers.

And as for her? There were the obvious practical negatives such as needing to have a car of her own; not to mention the emotional wrench of not having him around every evening. But she also recognized that he had not made the demand of her that they search for a house closer to Plymouth and that she be the one with the longer daily commute. He had taken that burden on himself. He also knew that on the nights when he wasn't with her, she would have the security and comfort of being in her own village, lonely for him perhaps but not really alone and she would be surrounded by friends and neighbours.

Martin returned from the kitchenette and sat beside her again. He smiled a half smile and stroked her hand. "You could stay with me on those 'on call' weekends, if you would like. As long as I stay within Plymouth city limits, I would be free unless there's an emergency."

"So not really two households?"

"No. A flat would be nothing more than a rest stop. Home would be with you. … wherever you are."

He straightened his tie and cleared his throat. His nervousness had returned. She wondered what that could possibly portend after all they had already discussed tonight. Clearly she hadn't given him the credit he deserved. She had pictured him sitting in Liverpool spending much of the past month prevaricating or making unilateral decisions about the type of future he wanted for himself. She had misjudged him: in actuality he had been conjuring up a compromise with which they both could reasonably live. He was talking again; she quieted her inner dialogue in order to listen to him.

"There is another practical matter that we need to discuss. We'll have to start looking for a house right away. Presuming that you are selected for the Head Teacher's position at the school, you'll be needing a place to live starting in August."

"Yea. With White Rose cottage still rented out, that won't be an immediate option."

"We will need something bigger, nonetheless."

"Right. It's only a one bedroom house. A bit too small once you move in. I understand."

"Um … that would be the case but regardless I think we need to look for something larger, with considerably more space. Four bedrooms, if we can find it."

"Four?" she exclaimed.

"Our bedroom and a home office for each of us."

"Okay, if we can afford it. That would be lovely. I'd like to have somewhere other than the kitchen table to spread out my papers and to do the marking. But do we need a spare bedroom? It's going to narrow down our options and given the soaring cost of cottages along the northern Coast, it will be more considerably more expensive."

"Yes." He seemed adamant.

She puzzled over this for a moment, trying to figure out what they would need a fourth bedroom for. "Can't see any of our parents dropping by for a visit. I know how you feel about having guests stay over. Anyway, we can put those up at the Port Gaverne Hotel, the Longcross Hotel or the pub if you would rather."

She looked at him quizzically and cocked her head to the side. Or maybe this was going to be a slightly different Martin, a more sociable one or trying to be for her sake.

"Is that why we need a fourth bedroom?"

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This story continues either next weekend or the weekend afterwards …


	105. Chapter 105

**Resolutions**

** Chapter One Hundred And Five**

"Storage."

"Pardon?"

"You asked me what function a fourth bedroom might have in our house in Port Wenn. Storage. That would be a useful and satisfactory purpose."

Her heart sank. Even for Martin this was an utterly unpredicted response. It caught her completely off guard. That he had been considering at all a "fourth" bedroom had come as a surprise. After their horrid argument in January, she figured that the issue of parenthood was something he was not ready to contemplate or confront. For a man who had long been bent on rigidly controlling his life with all the precision that his surgical skills could muster, the concept of parenthood would be daunting. She had anticipated protracted and thorny discussions on the subject in the hopes of persuading him.

In the brief few moments that she had to absorb its implications, her initial conjecture was that this bedroom would house the occasional guest or family member who turned up unannounced. Her fervent wish, however improbable it might be at this moment, was for that bedroom to function as a nursery. Of all the uses of that room, 'storage' had not remotely been on her list of possibilities.

"Storing what exactly?"

"All types of things." He looked at her matter-of-factly as if the answer was plainly obvious. "Furniture from your flat here in London, pieces that don't suit the new house, for example."

This seemed ridiculous to her, more of a smokescreen obscuring his true intentions. But she went along with it until she could detect what he was really trying to signal.

"There won't be much of that. Aside from the lovely sofa you bought me, most of the rest isn't worth saving. The bookshelves and the rickety kitchen table I am planning to sell off to one of the neighbours on the street. The box springs on the bed are ready to give out and the mattress is sagging. Besides," her green eyes knowingly locked onto his as if sharing that most intimate secret of lovers, "your new king sized bed definitely suits us much better."

He coughed to hide his embarrassment, hoping that his cheeks hadn't begun to flush. His mind filled with ample references as to why that large bed had been so effective and enjoyable for them. He read her face and saw the explicit promise of more erotic pleasure to come. This woman completely bewitched him, relentlessly chipping away at his unyielding self-control. He sensed the electricity and sexual tension buzzing between their bodies; it had been progressively intensifying throughout the past hour until it positively crackled. Needing to concentrate on the business of the evening, he reluctantly refocused his thoughts and gave her a complicit nod. He was struggling with this last, final hurdle and he knew she was growing frustrated with him.

"Right. There is also the furniture remaining behind when you rented out White Rose Cottage. Surely you will want to save some of that, at least the pieces your tenants haven't scratched, dented or generally abused beyond further use."

"Of course. Most of it. But those pieces can be scattered throughout our new home: in the kitchen, the living room, my study. The armoire and the chest of drawers from my old bedroom would make a beautiful addition to our new bedroom, providing the room is sufficiently spacious. Mostly though there isn't much that I want to keep beyond that old barometer, the wall hangings, the paintings and pictures, the kitchen contents and some small miscellaneous pieces. The rest can be donated to the Parish Charity Drive."

"Yes. Well …" his voice trailed off and he searched for the right words to bolster his argument. "You may not need the storage space but perhaps I might. Furniture and equipment from the surgery, for instance."

Another excuse, another attempt to stall the real point of this discussion. "Won't you be selling most of that stuff to the new GP?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"And the pieces that you might want to keep, like your desk, that golden Buddha and those beautiful Chinese antiques and pictures, won't you want all of those for your new study?"

"Yes."

"So there won't be much leftover then. What there is could probably go down the basement as storage."

"Basements in Port Wenn, at least from my experience, tend to be damp, musty and with a predisposition for mould and other noxious growths. Spores travel upwards through vents and are easily airborne; causing severe upper and lower respiratory infections – "

"Martin!"

"What?" His eyes grew wide and he stared at her blankly as if purposely not understanding her tone.

She was growing more exasperated with every new word that issued from his mouth. She folded her arms across her chest.

"If that is the case then we can buy a dehumidifier for the basement! Anything else that we can't put down there, that's superfluous, we can donate to charity or give to Bert who always seems to find a use for practically anything. Surely there won't be that much furniture to store after we finish filling the rest of the house!" She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to quell her rising impatience.

"Yes." He looked miserable.

She frowned at him, annoyed. For a man who prided himself on thinking everything through to its logical conclusion, he certainly wasn't demonstrating that quality now. She couldn't help thinking that there was some other purpose to this conversation, some other direction that it should be heading but that he was apprehensive to introduce.

She determined to utilize her best logic to see this argument through and reveal his motives. If she could peel back his layers of fear, the heart of the problem would become exposed and thus accessible for treatment.

"If the fourth bedroom is to be used only for storage and if we don't have enough items to store then the fourth bedroom won't be necessary. Agreed?"

Martin nodded in agreement. Her logic was faultless. His brows knitted together and thought for a moment. He said stubbornly, "We might have guests staying over. They could stay in the fourth bedroom."

"I'm sorry. You're actually saying that you would like to have guests sleep over in our home?"

She was incredulous. This would almost be comedic if she didn't know him better. What was he thinking? More importantly, why was he afraid to say it? He was acting more than a little strangely. Everything had been humming along brilliantly for the past little while. Now here he was anxious and more than a little cagey and evasive. Finding excuses and stalling meant he had something on his mind. It was as if he was intentionally concealing from her his true intentions, afraid that introducing the subject would make it more real, an anxiety that would have to be conquered.

"No … not really. But if someone shows up unexpectedly, we will have a room for them."

"More than likely if someone showed up unexpectedly, you would book them a room at The Slipway or drive them to The Longcross. Isn't that true?"

"I suppose so." More prevarication and obfuscation.

"If you are actually worried about uninvited guests showing up at our doorstep, why don't we buy a pull-out sofa? We can put it in the den, if there is one. Or if not, then put it in my study. That will save the expense of requiring a fourth bedroom."

"Oh. Right." He seemed inexplicably defeated by her unassailable logic.

"So that's sorted then?"

"Yes." He looked dejected.

An awkward silence enveloped the room once more. She did not know what to do. He did not know what to say. Mentally they retreated to their respective corners for a brief time out. She would not let this defeat them, especially on a night when they had already accomplished so much. They would figure this out. She was unshaken in her resolve. Being exasperated, frustrated and annoyed wasn't going to help solve the problem. She decided on a different tack.

"Martin," she softly implored him. "Is there something else? I can't help feeling that this conversation has less to do with having an extra bedroom and more to do with the reason for filling it."

He sucked in a breath, opened his mouth to say something and shut it again.

She put out her hand and touched his chest, hoping to coax him into telling her the truth.

"What? Tell me. Please."

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Part Eleven draws to a close next week ….


	106. Chapter 106

** Resolutions**

** Chapter One Hundred and Six**

**Author's Note:** Part Eleven was intended to finish this weekend. However the author thought that this chapter should be included prior to the conclusion of Part Eleven because some readers have expressed interest in reading about Martin and Louisa's thought processes.

All of the decisions made this evening are difficult ones for Martin. However none are as thorny as deciding about parenthood. He is experiencing what many of us have gone through in real life: wanting to commit to something life changing but not feeling quite ready yet to jump off of the springboard into the uncharted waters below. Fear is both a powerful roadblock and a disincentive.

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Silence.

"The fourth bedroom, Martin," she prompted him again. "If it's not needed for storage or guests then …"

She looked to him to finish the sentence. He did not. Her words hung in the air. It felt to her as though he was attempting to summon the courage to say something that would just not come out. These were the words that once said, once blown out into the air, might forever alter the dynamics between them. She knew why he wanted the extra bedroom. It was obvious. She did her best to divert her mind from that most logical of suppositions. She daren't allow her thoughts to roam freely towards that most ecstatic of conclusions. Best not in case he crushed her hopes with his misgivings.

Her outward enthusiasm sufficiently curbed so as not to further rattle his nerves, she utilized the present silence to assess his plight. She understood this to be a momentous step forward where he was concerned. She sensed that he was hamstrung by several fears: afraid of disappointing her characteristically high expectations; afraid of not meeting his own perfectionist standards; afraid of committing to something that might be beyond his capabilities; afraid most of all of repeating the mistakes his unrepentant parents had made when rearing him.

Her heart went out to him. Her natural capacity for empathy and compassion overrode her usual tendency to rise quickly to impatience and to be harshly critical. That too had been a lesson hard learned over the past year. While she could no more ignore the incessant and loud ticking down of her biological clock, she also knew that she did not want a resentful and reluctant co-parent. Martin must not be brow beaten, nagged or coerced into this decision, if she could help it. If he could not make the choice freely and of his own volition then there was little to be gained now that would not be sorely paid for later.

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Much as he wanted to blurt out the words he knew she so desperately wanted to hear, he simply could not manage it. The words frightened him too deeply. Yes, he was now ready to give up a top notch career in London to live in a remote village where it constantly rained climatic precipitation for one half of the year and insipid tourists for the other half. He was prepared to renounce his measured and meticulous solitary lifestyle in order to permanently co-habit with this messy and sometimes disorganized woman. All of this he was willing to wholeheartedly embrace.

This final commitment however, to enter the world of parenthood, was one still greatly vexing him. It was a full commitment, made for life, not one resolved by moving houses, geographically relocating or altering career paths. It was also one, once set upon, from which he could neither shirk nor waver. Louisa would expect him to be an equal partner in this endeavour; she would not tolerate the parenting style exemplified by either his or her father.

The magnitude of these anticipated responsibilities paralyzed him with a crushing fear. He was not naturally drawn to children; even his frequent medical visits to Port Wenn Primary had not cured him of that. Being an emotionally distant or overly punitive parent might irreparably stunt his off-spring's psychological or physical well-being, not to mention severely tear the fabric of his relationship with Louisa. The ramifications and consequences of poor parenting were enormous and long-term.

This endless cycle of fears and anxieties had replayed themselves over and over in a continuous loop in his head from December onwards. He had found it impossible to expunge them. Each 'what if' scenario whispered only pessimistic thoughts and drained his confidence. Tonight all of this conspired to clamp shut his mouth, disabling him from saying those words that Louisa longed to hear.

That was what pained him more than anything. He was loath to spoil the mutual happiness that had been achieved this evening. He did not want to cast a blight on their newly minted sense of equilibrium and unity. He wanted to be able to provide what was implicitly being asked of him.

It was mid-February. Assuming Louisa was offered the Headship, she would need to move into their new house in August in order to have sufficient time to prepare herself for the Autumn Term. Renovated houses in the Port Wenn area were snapped up quickly when they appeared on the market. Modernized three bedroom cottages were outrageously expensive and infrequently up for sale. Four bedroom houses even more so. City dwellers wanting holiday homes were willing to pay the price as were companies who converted the houses into rental properties for eager tourists.

If he and Louisa did not retain the services of an estate agent very soon, they might not find their ideal home in time. To that end, they must both have a unified intention and clear vision of what they wanted. He was firm in his resolve that they each have ample space and privacy. These were, for him, absolute requirements. His highly introverted nature made these prime necessities. His organized and fastidious character required a separate study not shared with Louisa. These non-negotiable points would make up part of the geographic formula that would contribute to a successful co-habiting partnership. Hence the need for a fourth bedroom: should a baby be forthcoming, neither partner would have to relinquish their coveted private space.

It had never occurred to him during this long month away from Louisa just how much contemplation and effort he had expended deliberating about parenthood. That purchasing a house with room enough for a child's bedroom was his optimal choice, demonstrated that he was further along in the decision making process than he consciously realized. He was, alas, not quite ready to make the leap.

Instead when it came time to discuss this particular issue tonight, as he knew with certainty that it would be on their unspoken agenda, he had been unable to do so with the openness and honesty it merited. Rather, he had skirted the subject, dodged Louisa's probing questions, evaded the perplexed expression on her face, stalled and made nonsensical excuses. His rationale was simple: he wanted to commit without committing.

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Part Eleven will conclude in a few days …


	107. Chapter 107

**Resolutions**

** Chapter One Hundred and Seven**

"So if it is unlikely that we will have guests staying over and if we require extra storage space we could rent a humidity controlled storage locker in Wadebridge or Newquay … the extra bedroom would be needed for …"

"Perhaps it could have other uses."

Since he would not say it, she would. "Like a nursery? A nursery for our child?"

She had said it gently so as not to perturb him. Her eyes widened in anticipation. She held her breath, restrained, silently imploring him to agree with her. This had to be a joint decision.

He looked into her gorgeous, expectant face and saw the anxiety which filled her as she awaited his response and the words which would, one way or another, impact the rest of her life. He wondered if he replied in the negative what she would do. Would she leave him, even after everything they had said to one another this evening? He no longer thought so.

"It is something to consider. Something to prepare for in the event that the possibility becomes a probability that could translate into fruition."

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, tilted her head to one side and gathered her thoughts, evaluating whether to be deflated or uplifted.

"You have got … qualms, don't you, Martin?"

"Qualms? A bit more than that," he admitted.

"Reservations then?"

"Yes. You don't honestly think that I'm going to be a natural at all that, do you? Being a father?" Although self-evident, it was a vulnerability he was loathe to expose to anyone but Louisa and perhaps Joan.

"I do. Perhaps not at first but I think you can learn the bits that don't come naturally. We both will have a lot to learn. But I have faith that we can do it and do it together."

"It's not just a debate concerning my capabilities, Louisa. There are numerous difficulties that will arise. For example, I won't be around much, except on the weekends. "

"I realize that. You'll be in Plymouth, providing you get the job. But there's the possibility of you teaching at the satellite school in Truro some days, right?"

"That's likely only to be the occasional lecture on vascular surgery. The four consultants already on staff do the day to day teaching."

"Oh. Well … we'll learn to cope. We can get a child minder or something, if necessary. There is always someone available in the village that is good at that type of thing and looking for a job."

Martin frowned at this ominous scenario. Best though to leave that discussion for another day. That was getting far ahead of themselves. "I don't want you becoming overexcited about the possibility of parenthood. Best not to raise your hopes too high at this point."

"And that is because …"

She already knew what was coming and was unfazed. Tonight had given her a new and unassailable level of confidence and optimism in their relationship. The foundation of compromise and trust, of give and take previously absent, was beginning to crystallize. Not everything could be resolved in one night. Life rarely worked in that way. But now spread out in front of them, were many days in which to do so, a lifetime full of days.

"Because on top of everything else, there are the medical issues to resolve. We both require complete physical examinations, counselling and the requisite tests and you should see your gynecologist. There is also the question of our respective ages and the viability of our fertility. We would both be considered geriatric parents – "

She bristled briefly at the reminder of which she needed no reminding. "Thank you very much. I am fully cognizant of the fact that I am approaching thirty nine years of age."

"That's the medical terminology. It's not meant to be an insult. I am in my late forties. Neither of us have brilliant prospects of conceiving. Yours might be as low as twenty-two percent. All the more reason to tread carefully when it comes to expectations."

"Hence the use of the fourth bedroom in the event that there is no baby? Storage." She recognized the fears and hesitations he felt about taking this next, momentous step; it was not that he did not want to; it was that he was afraid to. He would require reassurance and support.

"Um … yes. In case things don't work out, for whatever reason."

"But you do want to go ahead with this, Martin? I mean, to give this your best shot? Both figuratively and literally?" She understood how hard this decision was for him. If he did not want to proceed, it was best to know now.

"Yes, of course. If it is what you want."

She felt a twinge of guilt. "Martin, do you feel pressured into making this decision? Have I pressured you too much? Because if that's the case then …"

"Um …" His voice trailed off and he looked away.

She placed a hand on his forearm. "It's no good acting like you want to have a baby, for my sake. You have to want to. I won't compel you into a decision as life changing as this one. Come on, say what you want to say. We agreed to be completely truthful with one another this evening, didn't we?"

"Alright, I will admit that being a parent was never high on my priority list. In fact it was probably never there at all. But … I do understand what this means to you, how important it is."

"I appreciate that you are thinking about my happiness. Thank you for that. But?"

"No, not a but. I just don't feel equipped to become a father. Not psychologically at least. My childhood …well … it's not the type of example that bodes well." This was not a moment to shy away from the truth, from the main wellspring of his anxiety.

"If we could talk about that, be aware of your concerns and deal with them head-on as they come up. Maybe Dr. Travers could help – "

"I have discussed it with him on several occasions. Professionally he believes that I have the ability to become a good parent."

This needed to be said to her. He wasn't comfortable expressing his feelings for her aloud. But tonight this needed to be said.

"Travers is not such a fool as I originally thought. Talking with him has been instrumental in enabling me to reach this point … to be able to tell you … that the only woman I would ever consider having a child with …. is you. That maybe … perhaps … with you by my side … a family … a happy family, might just be achievable."

"Oh, Martin." She wiped the newly formed tear from her cheek.

Time to say the rest of it; it was time to say everything. "It never occurred to me that this could happen. What I mean to say is … long ago I shut off this possibility … that I could find someone like you, let alone deserved someone like you … and that maybe even I could be someone's father …. Being happy was never something I felt that I deserved."

Her heart went out to this sensitive, intelligent, caring man so bereft of all the love that he deserved. "I hope that I can spend the rest of my days assuring you that you do deserve it and how fortunate I am to have someone like you in my life."

He swallowed hard. "Maybe it's alright to allow myself to think that it is … viable. Because of you and all that you have given to me and all that you are willing to offer to me."

"Oh, Martin."

The tears were streaming now down her face. Knowing that she rarely had the foresight to carry a clean tissue, except when she was teaching, he reached into his back trouser pocket and took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. She wiped her eyes and cheeks and breathed deeply to calm the sobs. When she felt ready to continue, she asked the question most on her mind.

"Just to be clear – does all of this translate into a yes?" She clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

"Um … possibly. There is a significant amount to be assessed first, not to mention the medical viability-"

He stopped mid-sentence, watching the light in her green eyes begin to dim, her broad smile begin to fade. "But it is definitely something for us to seriously consider. If all the factors indicate adequate feasibility then yes –"

He got no further in his cautionary admission of acceptance.

"Martin! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Before he could qualify or elaborate, she was upon him. Straddling his lap, her thighs squeezing his, her arms thrown around his neck with unrestrained exuberance, her lips smothering his face with a succession of quick, wet kisses. Her elation was unbounded; her eyes glistened, she murmured endearments into his ear, caressed his hair.

He did not speak, allowing her joy to soak beneath his surface. His intellectual reticence receding, he surrendered fully to his senses. He savoured the weight of her warm, slender torso as it pushed against his own, tipping him further back, sinking him deeper into the sofa cushions. He offered no resistance.

In his role as a human being on planet Earth he had rarely felt that his actions, aside from those as a medical professional, suffused another person with elation. That he had been able to do so, on occasion, with this woman he so cherished, was nothing short of astounding to him.

It produced a wave of supreme contentment and happiness that was unparalled by anything else he had experienced. For a moment the numerous anxious, anticipatory 'what ifs' which habitually haunted his thoughts transformed into 'what could bes'. Dreaded obstacles became opportunities for happiness.

When Louisa was finally satisfied that she had fully expressed her pleasure and gratitude to him, she sank down contentedly onto his thighs and grasped onto his shoulders to steady herself. She smiled at him so roundly that he thought her grin filled the entire bottom half of her lovely face. She took one hand off his shoulder and put it to good use stroking his chin.

"You have made me so very happy, Martin. You do know that, don't you?"

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And now dear readers and fellow observers of this beloved couple, it is time to afford Martin and Louisa their privacy. Not forever but at least for the remainder of this evening. It takes little imagination on our parts to comprehend how they will spend the final hours of this day: alone, wrapped in each other's arms, expressing their love for one another through touch, taste and tenderness. Let us then leave them to reap their just rewards and to enjoy the fruits of their labours. Let us now quietly close the door behind us so as not to disturb them as we exit the hotel room.

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It is generally known that in order to successfully propel a boat forward, an oar must be pushed against the resistance of the water. This resistance translates into the force advancing the craft. This can be arduous work, this process of moving forward.

However in those instances when the current is flowing in the right direction and the wind is behind you and in your favour, resistance becomes unnecessary. The wind and the water become your advocates, driving you and your little craft forwards. Exertion and strain on your part become avoidable.

All that is required of you is to maintain a firm hand and a sharp eye on the steering mechanism; to ensure that your tiny boat sails in the right direction towards your destination and is prevented from spinning round in circles.

You can relax. Go with the flow. Navigate watchfully.

Hope for calm seas on the horizon.

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**Author's Note:**

Where I live, September 1st marks the unofficial end to summer. Vacations are over, schools reopen, the nights become perceptibly longer, leaves begin to turn gold or red. It is also the end of my opportunity to write and to post for some time. Fortunately and intentionally this also coincides with the conclusion of the ten chapters that form Part Eleven.

Wishing you all a happy and healthy Autumn (in the northern hemisphere) or Spring (in the southern hemisphere). Thank you once again for taking the time to read this story. It is much appreciated.

Whatever transpires next for Resolutions, be it _conclusion or continuation_, will likely appear in the New Year, the time in the calendar when new resolutions are made.

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End of Part Eleven


	108. Chapter 108

**Resolutions**

**Part Twelve: Evolutions**

**HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO ALL DOC MARTIN FANS EVERYWHERE!**

**Author's Note:** Part Twelve is dedicated to the readers who wrote and asked what happened next.

The author is grateful to the clever and insightful Boots1980 who suggested the idea of "evolutions".

**Chapter One Hundred and Eight**

Sex was better. Not that there had been anything wrong with it before. Now however, it was different. Enhanced or enriched might be better descriptors if she was being more precise but it was one-thirty in the morning and she had just awoken from sleep and her brain was a tad fuzzy.

It was not wishful thinking nor bias on her part to believe that sex was at the top of the scale. She had sufficient proof these past six weeks to confirm it. Commencing on that weekend prior to Valentine's Day and continuing right through tonight, sex was definitely better.

It had become part of a deeper conversation between her and Martin. A form of dialogue that required few nouns or conjugated verbs excepting those used to stimulate desire and arousal, erotic anticipation and breathless climaxes. For some people sex allows them to express and communicate their feelings more clearly than through the spoken word. She had long believed it was that way with Martin and now she was certain of it.

The improvement, for her, was more emotional than physical. After and ever since that intensely focused February evening when they both had finally been sufficiently brave to say all that needed to be said and to do so unreservedly, she had felt more bonded to him than at any time during their five year history. They had become a true and viable couple, fully committed to one another without prevarication or hesitation. Many honest words were exchanged that night thereby cementing the last cracks in their previously shaky foundation.

For Louisa this evolution was reflected in her attitude towards many things, including lovemaking. There had certainly been love, passion, chemistry and ardour wrapped up in their intimacy before. But now, because there was also a faith in the permanency, viability and durability of the relationship, there was also security and stability enriching and infusing the physical experience. Vital for two persons who had experienced abandonment.

This newfound trust and belief in the perpetuity of their relationship imbued her with an augmented confidence regarding intimacy and a greater degree of spontaneity in expressing her feelings for him through touch, sound and taste. Theirs was now an unconstrained and unreserved giving of self to the other. A knowing without doubt or certainty that this was a private joining of two people who wholeheartedly chose to be together until one of those bodies no longer walked the earth. The anguished struggle and frantic questioning phase of whether they could stay together was over. Now that her brain was clearing from the fog of sleep, she found the right word; exhilarating.

Louisa rolled from her back onto her left hip. Using one elbow she propped herself up on her short stack of pillows. With her right arm she drew up the sheet to cover her bare chest, not out of any misplaced sense of chasteness or modesty but because of the chill in the room. Martin preferred his nocturnal quarters to be cool because coolness promoted a deeper, more restful sleep. She let out a brief laugh. He was certainly enjoying a restful sleep now but the cause had little to do with the temperature this early spring night.

She felt marvelous; fully satisfied and physically satiated. It was a luxurious sensation, this lying naked next to him in the aftermath of their sexual union. How he could both ravish and excite and deftly manipulate her body until the sexual tension reached the sticking point. Able to contain herself no longer, it burst forth, leaving her simultaneously relaxed and jubilant. It was as if he had deliberately injected her body with an illicit, rapture inducing drug.

Knowing it would not disturb his rest, she slowly ran one finger down his temple, caressing the cropped hair behind his ear. That hair was all grey now. No traces left of its original light brown, the shade it had been when she first met him. In repose his face was peaceful, the crags and crinkles somewhat receded. There was no denying however their prominence or number. Age, stress and a lifetime of scowling had left their marks on his skin. She drew up her hand to the side of her own face to hold back long strands of disheveled hair, preventing them from falling onto him as she bent down to gently plant a long kiss on his forehead.

Time, she considered, was irreversible. It marched forward, ploughing heedless through all obstacles in its path. And now so must she and Martin; plough through. Much to think about; much to do. Because they had mutually decided it would, their life together was about to dramatically change. In fact it already had. Tomorrow she would take the afternoon train from Liverpool to London and the next day onto Port Wenn for the remainder of the Half Term break between the Spring and Summer school terms.

She had enjoyed these last few days with him. It had been the greatest number of days they had consecutively spent together since Christmas. Even in this new and often tense phase of negotiating and determining how to live together, they had both realized there were concessions and compromises to make. She was attempting to be less messy and disorganized around the flat. He had conceded that a few pieces of dark chocolate or a sweet a day were not going to send her body down the slippery slope towards diabetes or high cholesterol. Small and incremental changes perhaps but perceptible, and mutually acknowledged and appreciated.

Tomorrow would bring another shifting upward of the gears into a faster speed. Hence the reason for the break in what should have been an uninterrupted slumber tonight. It was the beginning of April, springtime in England, and she had many matters to initiate in Port Wenn. These were things that construed the transition from discussing and deciding to preparing and planning. The simple physical action of turning a page on the calendar signalled the end of their "thinking" phase and the advent of their "doing" phase.

The first round of interviews for the Head Teacher's position were scheduled for early May. The Board of Governors wanted a smooth and gradual transition, given the school's recent financial problems. Hence they expected the incoming Head to be up to speed on matters by the time he or she took over at the beginning of Autumn Term. The Board would make their final determination by late May.

It was already decided that the successful candidate would converse by telephone or computer with the Board and the outgoing Head to get themselves well versed in the remaining weeks of Summer term. If the school was to be kept viable and not placed on the potential shut down list in the future, much depended on the leadership displayed by the new Head.

One of the Governors had let slip to her that much as she was held in general favour and had been of wise but informal counsel these past few months, there were already several other candidates who had expressed interest. Two were significantly older than she and with considerably more experience. The job would not and could not simply be handed to her. She could take nothing for granted and would have to be in top form during the interview process. Her vision for the future would be key.

She really wanted this job. She fervently hoped that her year and a half's experience as a senior teacher at a top primary school in London would be perceived in a sufficiently positive light. At least enough to outshine the shadows created by her abrupt departure from Port Wenn Primary in the weeks following her non-wedding. It was rumoured that a couple of the governors would want persuading that this time she was home to stay, permanently. For all of these reasons, she would spend part of her time this next week informally meeting with some of the teachers and parents in order to get a better perspective regarding how the school was actually faring.

Another, much larger chunk of her time in Port Wenn would be consumed by interviewing and eventually hiring an estate agent. Thus would begin the lengthy process of selling two homes and buying another. No final decisions wold be made until after it was known whether she had been successful in being selected for the Head's position. Nonetheless it was time to get the ball rolling. Get the lay of the land, so to speak. Selling the two properties would not be too difficult. Both homes were situated in choice locations in the village and ideal for couples looking to downsize from far flung metropolises or as holiday cottages. Finding a home that suited both she and Martin would be the far greater challenge.

Putting all of this in motion brought a fuller sense of reality and shape to the initial decisions made on that cold and rainy February night in London. She and Martin were about to make changes that symbolized an end to their former lives in Port Wenn. She would no longer have her little cottage, the one she had so carefully scrimped and saved to purchase then joyously decorated in a style that was a nod to her independence and individuality. Martin would sell both his home and his surgery. His career as the village's GP would be effectively terminated. She had come to accept his choice.

The purchase of a home together would trigger the start of many things: a more tangible commitment to their permanent status, the intermingling of their finances, the recognition that Port Wenn rather than London or Liverpool was to be their home and lastly, the hope of starting a family. This latter change was perhaps the most momentous of all. By her fortieth birthday it was entirely possible, she hoped, that she and Martin would be parents.

While she was overjoyed and eager about the prospect of fulfilling her long-held dream, she knew Martin still felt trepidation. However, true to his word, he had laid out his fears in front of her one by one. With her gentle insistence and perseverance, they had begun to tackle and dismantle them.

They had mutually decided that mid-March was the date to begin their attempts at conceiving, providing of course that their physical examinations and tests proved that it was prudent to do so. Indeed Time was not just moving them forward. It was nudging and pushing them along, constantly alerting them to their many responsibilities and deadlines.

Checking the illuminated alarm clock on Martin's night table, she saw that the time was already past two. Having sufficiently reassured herself that it was not useful to stew or ruminate any further tonight, she decided to attempt to go to sleep. Martin always said that things seemed worse at night and that a good sleep was the best medicine. She stroked his cheek and lay back down on her side, snuggling closer into him and with one arm over his, in a matter of minutes she was snoring again.

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This story continues …


	109. Chapter 109

Resolutions

Part Twelve: Evolutions

Chapter One Hundred and Nine

When he awoke it was still early, not quite five-thirty. Now that he was back performing surgery these past six months, he was accustomed to waking before sunrise even on weekends but not at this hour. The first thought that clicked into his brain this April morning, as he watched Louisa sleeping, was that today was the day she was heading back to London and then on to Port Wenn tomorrow. Thinking about her leaving, he felt his stomach drop and although he knew it to be medically impossible, his heart felt like it was sinking.

She had somehow managed to journey up to Liverpool almost every weekend since mid-February. Now that he was back to a full operating schedule and the research project had reached a critical stage, they both had realized it was too physically demanding for him to travel frequently on weekends to be with her in London.

His taxing daily schedule meant that by Friday evening he was shattered. Added to this were the nights and weekends on call or being asked to substitute for another surgeon in an emergency. Thus it made little sense for him to board a train early on Saturday mornings only to return to Liverpool the following afternoon. He needed some time on the weekends to recharge his batteries.

Both Martin and Louisa took note of these facts, understanding that if he got the position in Plymouth, his schedule was unlikely to be a whole lot lighter. There would definitely be several days a week when he would be too tired to make the almost ninety minute drive, congested roads and weather permitting, to Port Wenn.

Having this evidence laid out squarely before them actually construed a positive turn of events. It convinced both members of the couple that renting a small flat for him in Plymouth would be a necessity. There was no recrimination or resentment on Louisa's part. She recognized how much Martin was giving up by moving back to Cornwall to be where she was happiest.

"Happy", not a word he much liked. Still, he had to admit that it felt very good to make Louisa happy. These days she seemed about as happy as he had ever seen her. She hummed or sang snatches of songs from the West End musicals she liked while doing the washing up or preparing meals. An unmistakable sign that she was actually joyful. It was a behaviour that he had only previously witnessed in the weeks leading up to their non-wedding two Novembers ago.

He was about to reach down for his pajamas which Louisa had strewn on the floor beside the bed, when he thought better of it. Louisa liked them to sleep naked together after sex, believing that it promoted greater intimacy and a lack of inhibition. Considering this, instead he lay down on his back hoping to sleep again.

Finding that he could not return to slumber, for his mind was still racing, he turned on to his side to face the sleeping Louisa. She, of course, lay on her side. As usual not heeding his medical advice that this position promoted neither uninhibited breathing nor good spinal posture. However her choice of sleeping arrangement had the benefit of allowing him to observe her face. Even in repose and without the artifice of make-up, she emitted an exquisite beauty. He wondered, as he often did, what he had done to deserve her.

He had been thinking lately just what an unquantifiable and vast transformation she had made to the quality and direction of his life. Almost a metamorphosis. It was not just the tangible things like how on weekends when he hadn't had time to do the marketing before her arrival, she would insist on doing it herself on Saturday mornings to that he could have a lie in. Nor was it the fact that she made the near weekly trips without complaint although he knew there were times when she would have much preferred to stay in her cozy flat on a snowy winter weekend.

She even was attempting to break her tornado-like habit of leaving a cluttered, messy room in her wake. This he was grateful for as he disliked a scene of chaotic disorganization. He understood how difficult it was to discontinue negative behaviours developed over years. He, in turn, was trying to break a few of his own bad habits that likewise annoyed her.

What he most appreciated were the many intangibles. Despite the messiness, clutter and general disorganization she brought into his ordered, uncluttered and organized home, he enjoyed her physical company and bright friendship so much that those annoyances had come to matter less. Her presence was such that her absence was impactful.

It was to the point now that he dispiritedly felt the emptiness and silence in his flat on Sunday afternoons after she had gone. Often he found some excuse, after taking her to the train station, to avoid going home straightaway. He was becoming a regular at the Sunday Farmer's Market a block away from the station; browsing and buying until he finally felt the heavy weight of her departure dissipate.

Watching her sleep beside him now, he pondered how different this past year might have been had she not decided to come back into his life. Yes, he had gotten the contract in Liverpool on his own merits and previous reputation as a surgeon. However Louisa had been highly instrumental in his keeping it. She had been integral in helping him recover from the terrible attack of haemophobia last October, the one that threatened to derail his career.

She had followed her natural instincts, travelling unbidden from London to his flat where he was hiding out. She had found him withdrawn and fearful that he might not have the courage to re-enter the hospital again on Monday morning. Without her resolve, he may well have suffered a nervous breakdown.

While he had initially rebuked and harshly pushed her away, it was she who made him see that he had to follow his treatment plan if he was to mend and improve. She had brazenly knocked the arrogance out him, even at the perilous cost that he might have pushed her away permanently. Finally she had made him understand that even he required guidance and support from others to get him over life's rough patches.

Since then he had maintained a disciplined approach to his meditation and relaxation exercises and heeded the professional counsel of Dr. Travers. Consequently he felt like a surgeon again and had fully regained his identity as such. It was the skin in which he felt most comfortable. He was also grateful to her for not pressuring or coercing him into returning to general practice in Port Wenn. He was quite sure that he would have been miserable returning to that role, however much he might want to please her.

He had been reluctant to bring up the proposed sale of his home and surgery this week while they were discussing their move back to Port Wenn. He worried that it would bring her substantial pain; another sign that he was not fulfilling the dream she had once held for him. Instead she chewed her lip, went quiet for a moment then nodded her head and said that she would be happy to bring it up with the estate agents she was to interview.

Helping him regain the career that he wanted was, of course, only a part of what she had done for him. She had been both the incentive and the motivation for envisioning his future in an entirely different light. No longer was his career the driving and singular force in his life. No more did he see himself in middle and old age as forever alone without partner or family.

It had become possible for him to visualize himself as a potentially lovable person and deserving of that love. Life was no longer painted in black and white. Louisa had ensured that the palette now contained an extensive range of magnificent colours; some soothing and calming, others vibrant and vivid.

He very much wanted to do something tangible that would further and concretely express his love, gratitude and appreciation for all that she had done for him and continued to do to enrich his life. The answer, he believed, was to have the child she so craved.

He understood just how much she wanted to be a mother and how important it was for her to have a child, his child. Louisa had been denied a stable and secure childhood, something with which he could empathize. It was within his capability to help her build her own happy family. It was something he could contribute to her life in a meaningful way.

He had many misgivings about the plan: geriatric age; maternal and paternal health; his own ability to parent and its demands; the noise, clutter, lack of sleep. Yet he was prepared to contend with all of that for Louisa's sake. Occasionally, in his more optimistic and unguarded moments, he allowed himself to believe that he might possibly enjoy having an offspring and with Louisa's guidance, be a suitable father.

That is, if they were fortunate enough to procreate. To that end he had convinced her to undergo a comprehensive physical examination at the hands of a very good GP he knew at Imperial. He had one too at the Royal Liverpool and the genetic testing they both had recently undergone served to alleviate unmitigated, nagging worries he had conjured up in his mind. Louisa had also visited her gynecologist when she had been home for Half Term break and had been pronounced fit and healthy.

She had been prescribed a slew of prenatal vitamins and minerals which she had conscientiously and proudly added to her diet, excited to be at last preparing for motherhood. Last weekend had been their first foray into "functional fornication". It had proven surprisingly freeing and pleasurable. Given that he had made somewhat of a project of researching best times of day and sexual positions optimal for conception, the whole experience was proving better than he had anticipated.

Feeling more relaxed, he found himself growing sleepy once more. He reached over and pulled the covers up past Louisa's shoulder, to compensate for the chill in the room temperature. Placing a quick kiss on her cheek, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes to sleep until the alarm clock made that no longer possible.

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This story continues on Saturdays whenever possible …


	110. Chapter 110

**Resolutions**

**Part Twelve: Evolutions**

**Author's Note**: An extra-long chapter today because Resolutions won't be posted until later next month.

Chapter One Hundred and Ten

"We will have to make a decision sometime soon, Martin. I'm sorry to put this much pressure on you but time is fleeting."

Louisa, sitting in Lindsay's kitchen with a hand to her forehead in exasperation, was adamant that he should understand. "We do need to find somewhere for us or at least me, to move into by August first. You do remember that I'll be moving out of my flat and London at the end of July after Summer Term concludes?"

She assumed he was still listening although he said nothing. She continued to stress her point. "If we can't find a house by then either I cajole Lindsay into letting me bunk with her for an extended period or I have to sleep on the floor of the school's gymnasium." She hoped that last sentence lightened the tension somewhat.

"The gymnasium floor would hardly be sanitary or practical."

A despairing sigh emitted from her end of the telephone line. Sometimes, now for instance, the distance between Liverpool and Port Wenn seemed even more protracted than it was geographically. She wasn't certain what to make of his observation. Was he joking or taking her comment literally?

"I do realize the difficulties, Louisa. I am fully cognizant of your deadlines and the considerable strain all of this is putting you under. With this week's decision to appoint you as the new Head Teacher, you feel an increased sense of urgency about securing accommodations."

He added, feeling he must restore a sense of calm and order to their conversation. "Nonetheless this remains a decision which we must approach logically and practically. We must not give in to mere emotional responses."

This last sentence particularly irked her. It was in reference to a house they had recently viewed and about which Louisa had been enthusiastic. One of the oldest homes in the village, it was large and rambling, steeped in local character and history. Unfortunately it was also replete with dry rot and mould, faulty electrical wiring, and just about every window required replacing. Louisa disregarded these problems, choosing to see only its character, charm and ambience. Martin quite rightly saw the extensive renovations needed, the drafty rooms and the never ending cost of frequent repairs.

Trying to merge their respective tastes was proving a more formidable challenge than either of them had previously foreseen. That was rather an understatement; it had caused several heated arguments, frayed nerves and short tempers.

She wanted to live in the bustling heart of the village. He wished to reside far outside its parameters on a secluded road where neighbours were scarce. He wanted a fully renovated, modern and move-in ready house. She was plumping for a traditional Cornish cottage and wasn't fazed by the disruptive inconvenience that a period of upgrading renovations would cause. She preferred a location that would allow her to walk through the centre of the village to go to work or to the shops thereby providing her ample opportunities to socialize. He wanted nothing more than to get into his car sight unseen and unheard, driving away unimpeded to the roadways leading to Plymouth.

All of this solidified into a sense of panic in Louisa's mind. Next week the calendar page turned to June. They would be hard pressed now to find homeowners ready and willing to move out before summer's end. It did not look as though this week was going to yield any further prospects.

Martin had come down for the late May Bank Holiday six days ago and had been thoroughly dissatisfied with the ample list of houses that she and Bob, their estate agent, had lined up for him to view. Bob was getting more than a tad frustrated with the both of them. So far there had been no way to reconcile their diverse tastes nor find them an acceptable property.

"Martin, it's true that where our new home is concerned, the place where we will hopefully reside for the next forty-odd years, I am apt to act more with my heart than with my head. Fortunately though, I have you to balance that off with your practical nature and common sense."

She was doing her best to glean the positives from this frustrating situation. "Together we make rather a good team. I understand a home's character, ambience and beauty and how to highlight and augment them. You are able to analyze its flaws and the extent of repairs required to make it livable and healthy."

Kind of like the way we view people, she thought to herself.

Martin was pensive having learned, whenever he remembered, to think first before speaking with Louisa. There was another subject on which they had been disagreeing and should be addressed before it burgeoned any further.

"About the money, Louisa. You do understand that I'm not trying to let price get in the way or to curtail buying something that you love. House prices in North Cornwall have skyrocketed in recent years and because we want a well-built four bedroom home with some land around it, the cost is likely to stretch our resources somewhat."

"I know. I do understand the financial implications. I appreciate just how much of a financial burden you will be saddled with. I feel rather guilty about it all. My teacher's salary will be much less than yours and because of the large mortgage remaining on White Rose Cottage, the sale won't bring in all that much."

"Please. You must stop apologizing for the wage disparity between a vascular specialist and a primary school headmistress. We have both agreed to contribute what is within our means to give. Considering that you bought the cottage less than a decade ago, you couldn't possibly have become mortgage free yet. As I have said repeatedly, ad nauseum, you don't have to contribute anything at all. I can pay for everything – "

Her quick temper and the late hour got the better of her. She shot back quickly, blurting out, "That is simply not on. I have told you that, repeatedly, ad nauseaum. I intend to pay my fair share in this relationship. I will not be a kept woman."

"A what?" He felt his anger mounting, simmering just beneath the surface. What a ridiculous assertion on her part. It was getting late, he was tired after a long day in surgery and they were having this charged discussion hundreds of miles apart. "A kept woman! I resent the implication."

The telephone line went silent. On both ends.

Simultaneously a warning bell rang loudly in both their heads. If the discussion had been heating up; it was now almost at the boiling point. An argument was in the offing. They were beginning to rehash previous and historic points of contention. Both of them knew there was little good to be gained from that.

Recognizing this, they were eager to break the old habits and patterns: they wished to prevent their discussions from descending into sniping; to withhold oft repeated biting criticisms; to stop dredging up negative commentaries regarding past unsuitable behaviours. In short, they wanted to argue more constructively.

Two strong willed persons such as themselves were inevitably going to clash sometimes. The results and the aftermath need not be dire, causing one or both of them to storm off, shut down or withdraw, as had been their history. They were resolute about not returning to those unproductive behaviours.

With that goal in mind, Louisa had asked Lindsay whether she could give her any suggestions that might prove helpful, given how common such behaviours were in the families she saw in therapy. Lindsay had sent her two articles, both full of common sense tips and a few simple, practical strategies regarding negotiation. Succinctly, the articles also explained some of the reasons why couples clash and provided constructive ways to navigate through such problems.

Louisa had found the material useful and emailed it to Martin, suggesting that he read it too. Naturally he pronounced the articles "poppycock" and "trite", defensively stating that he didn't need them. Louisa wisely left the subject alone. Despite his outward blustering he was inwardly somewhat curious, a positive side effect of his sessions with Dr. Travers. One weekday evening when he had nothing better to do, he downloaded the articles and perused them. He found them surprisingly relevant to the dynamics of his relationship with Louisa.

Tonight they decided to implement one of those tips. To allow themselves more breathing space, if that were indeed possible considering they were already many miles apart. They spent the next few minutes off-topic, giving the contentious topic wide berth. Focusing on neutral matters gave them both time to regain their composure and retreat to common ground. Even if the resolution of their problem did not happen immediately, the idea was to step away briefly knowing that they could move on in a more positive way later.

It was Martin who gently and eventually steered them back to the touchy subjects of house hunting and household finances. "I want to be clear. I do understand how important it is to buy a house and soon, Louisa. I am not intentionally trying to be stubborn or difficult."

"We are both stubborn, Martin and at times, difficult. It's not just you."

"Um … perhaps. I also appreciate that the lion's share of the work has fallen to you and that you've been diligently scouting the area with Brian's assistance."

"Bob."

"Who?"

"Bob. Not Brian. He's our estate agent. You met him last weekend when he took us on the tour of homes listed for sale in the area."

"Oh. Right. Tall, thin fellow. Moderate case of eczema. Scratched repeatedly, likely triggered by some sort of immediate stressor."

"I'm sorry if I lost my temper earlier, Martin. It's just that I'm a bit frustrated and worried. Honestly, you're not to blame."

She wanted to lay out her own feelings so he would understand. "It won't be easy for me to oversee renovations and move into a new home after Fall Term starts at the beginning of September. As it is, late August will be full of parents' tours, timetable scheduling and teachers' meetings. Being Head again won't leave much free time until I find my feet again. It would have been ideal to have all of this settled in August. I'm not whingeing and, I do see now that my goals were probably unrealistic."

"Try to be patient, Louisa. You only found out unofficially this week that you've got the job."

"I know but I had a fair inkling these past two weeks that the Governors were leaning in my direction, considering that the only other remaining candidate had no previous experience as a Head or an administrator."

She stifled a yawn. "At least Bob can email me photos as more listings become available. I can travel down here Saturday mornings and return Sunday nights to London if necessary. He and I speak so frequently that I actually have him on speed dial on my mobile. We'll have to invite him to our housewarming party."

Missing the joke or afraid that she was serious about holding a ghastly housewarming party, Martin ignored that last comment. "Look I'm sorry but it is getting late and I do have to be up early tomorrow morning for rounds so …"

"Yup. Okay. Leave it with me. I'll crack on."

"Thank you. Goodnight."

"And goodnight to you too. … Martin?"

He was about to ring off. "Yea?"

"You have been very generous regarding house prices. Prices here have absolutely spiralled lately and you haven't complained about what it is going to cost. It's me feeling guilty … you know … about not being able to contribute significantly."

"But you are contributing significantly, proportionate to what you can afford and what your future salary will allow. If you must persist with this irrational feeling of guilt then think of this: there is more to home purchase and ownership than making a down payment or paying a mortgage."

"Yes but-"

"No buts. It is you, not me who has made several trips already to Cornwall since April, interviewed estate agents, viewed prospective houses, reviewed house listings and photos sent to you by Bri- Bob. If you spend any more time with him, I may develop a jealous attitude."

This joke made Louisa laugh in spite of her worries, as Martin knew it would. He had learned that, especially in moments of tension, it helped to lighten the mood and alleviate the anxiety. Perhaps those articles of Lindsay's were not really the waste of time that he had protested they were. He was learning to subtly introduce more of the acerbic Ellingham wit into his conversations with her. He discovered that she liked it.

Feeling calmer and more reassured, Louisa put down her mobile and started to get ready for bed. Contemplating what had just transpired between them, she realized that despite her initial frustration tonight, they were now able to hold mostly productive and civil dialogues concerning important matters.

A year ago, or four, that would have scarcely been imaginable. The recent difficult period between Christmas and Valentine's Day had frightened and shaken them both. Consequently it provided the final incentives and motivation required to make further changes in how they dealt with one another. They now understand that conflicts sometimes were not resolved because one or both partners do not feel safe enough in the relationship to say what they really wanted. They feared that if they did, the other partner might leave them.

That was no longer the case with Martin and Louisa. They were moored in a safe harbour now, together. Should they embark again on open seas, they were well equipped to tackle the inevitable stormy weather that comes occasionally when sailing.

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	111. Chapter 111

Resolutions

Part Twelve: Evolutions

Chapter One Hundred And Eleven

Friday afternoon, just as she and Lindsay were finishing lunch at Bert's restaurant, her mobile rang. It was Bob. Had she time to view a house this afternoon? Pushing her other plans aside, she readily assented. When she inquired further about the house, Bob was uncharacteristically cagey, commenting only that he would pick her up at three o'clock near the Platt. He rung off, leaving her curiousity piqued. Usually Bob was more forthcoming than that.

She hoped he had something promising to offer but doubted it. They had toured everything even remotely desirable earlier in the week when Martin was in town and reviewed others online. Unlikely that a new listing had surfaced since yesterday. She worried about what June would bring. When she and Martin had initially argued on the telephone two nights ago, she wondered what to do given her limited time to house hunt after this week.

There could not be many more houses to come on the market over the summer months. In this area most people usually refrained so as to enjoy one more beautiful Cornwall summer before listing. Perhaps she and Martin should start looking in Wadebridge. Even so, how often could she come down to Cornwall during the latter half of the busy school Summer Term? It was no good asking the Head Mistress for extra time off. Things were a bit frosty there already.

She had told the Head Mistress in late April about the Port Wenn Primary position and had asked for a reference. While she generally kept her private life private, she had eventually made a couple of friends amongst her school colleagues. It was an open secret therefore, because she travelled so frequently to Liverpool on weekends, that she was seriously involved with a surgeon who lived there.

The Head Mistress had also heard those rumours and hoped it signalled that Louisa had made up her mind to stay in the area. Maybe this surgeon would agree to move to London. After all, who would want to stay indefinitely in Liverpool? Louisa living permanently in London meant that she could be carefully and slowly groomed for the Deputy Head's position as intended.

When Louisa had made her intentions known to re-apply for the job in Port Wenn, the Head Mistress had been genuinely perplexed. Why return to an isolated rural school? Louisa now had this prospect of a senior teaching and administrative position at a top London school – one that came, at that level of responsibility, with the added benefit of profit sharing.

To lose Louisa would be a disappointment. One that the Head Mistress did not shy away from conveying, more than once. Nor did the Head appear sympathetic to giving extra days off for Louisa's trips to Cornwall for two rounds of interviews and house hunting. Louisa had therefore managed to sandwich some of that in during this Half Term break in late May and on earlier weekends in the month. Consequently she dared not ask for any more time off before the end of term in July unless it was absolutely necessary.

At the beginning of May, after the first round of interviews, three out of the five chosen candidates had been selected to go on to the final round. This stage involved a more technical understanding of the local school system, financial and administrative complexities and outstanding budget issues.

One of the remaining candidates had been very keen, eager to make her mark as a local Head. However she lacked the experience and financial acumen necessary to tackle the looming financial problems and decided to wait until a less challenging position became vacant elsewhere. Not everyone was keen to take on a relatively isolated village school that was about to be subjected to further cuts in government funding. Subsequently she dropped out just prior to the second interviews, leaving only Louisa and one other candidate to compete.

The final interviews had been completed this past Tuesday during Half Term break. Given her knowledge of all the required subjects plus her updated understanding of recent issues at the school, Louisa had felt fairly confidant of her own success. She had surmised correctly and was the winning candidate. The Board of Governors would be making the official announcement next week. Now that she knew coming home to Port Wenn was a certainty, the need to find a home must shift up a gear.

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As she buckled herself into Bob's BMW, she asked, "Is it far? Will I be back in time to get to the fishmonger's before closing? I promised to make dinner for Lindsay and me."

Bob laughed and straightened his sunglasses. "That shouldn't be a problem. Sorry to have been so secretive on the phone. I just found out about this place. It's not even listed on the market yet. The family just signed with an estate agent two days ago and are eager to expedite matters. The owners agreed to this private and exclusive advanced viewing because they know you and heard that you were down this week looking at properties."

She couldn't figure out who he might be talking about; she thought she had talked to just about everyone who had a house on the market. She noticed that he was driving very slowly, navigating judiciously between the parked cars and the pedestrians. The BMW turned right, heading slowly up Roscarrock Hill. She had no idea where they were going. In another two minutes the paved road would cease and they would be at the cliff's edge.

"Bob, are we heading off the cliff into the sea or turning left onto the coastal pathway to mow down the ramblers?"

Bob grinned. "Not quite."

Up past Bert's restaurant and Martin's old surgery. Beyond the last B and B and the white stone pottery studio and shop. There was little left of the asphalt road before the car made a sharp right turn into the last driveway before the cliff.

"Not this house! The Thompsons live here! Oh no, are they moving out of Port Wenn?"

"Uh huh. As soon as they can, apparently. Going to live in a nursing home near their daughter in Yorkshire. Mrs. Thompson suffered a bad heart attack a few months ago. She can't manage the stairs anymore. Her husband's spinal stenosis means he can no longer manage them either. They can't take care of the house or the garden any more to the degree they would like."

"Gosh. I didn't know. Haven't talked to either of them since I moved away. Caught a glimpse of Mr. Thompson coming out of a shop last July. He was with a young woman. I should have stopped to stay hello."

"The young woman was probably their paid have used one for the past year when the upkeep of the house became too much. Their daughter is anxious for them to move out before one of them falls and breaks a hip."

"They were so kind to me when I was growing up. After my mother left for Spain, it was known around the village that Dad was frequently short of money. Mrs. Thompson often dropped by with a hot casserole or pudding under the pretence that it was a new recipe she had tried and wanted my opinion as to the result."

Staring out of the car window at the beautiful old home, she remembered something else. "When I returned to Port Wenn to teach, Mrs. Thompson gave me a beautiful red leather writing pad on my first day of school. I never forgot that. Still use it in fact. In the last few years I have barely seen them. They travelled a good deal or went to visit their family in Yorkshire. I got busy with work. I should have made the time."

Louisa bit her lip. A consuming wave of guilt washed over her. Mrs. Thompson had sent a lovely note of heartfelt sympathy after the non-wedding. She should have replied but had been so miserable and depressed that she hadn't called to say thank you, not even before moving to London.

Bob interrupted her self-evisceration. "They have invited you to tea. You can have a private tour of the house, if you would like."

Bob parked his car in the driveway and unbuckled his seatbelt. He turned to look at her and frowned. "It's short notice and somewhat irregular – a private viewing with the owners remaining in the house. Some potential buyers find it inhibiting. Hard to talk openly about a property's flaws and shortcomings with the owners staring at you. Will you mind?"

"Of course not. I'd love to see the two of them again. It's very kind to think of me; just like them. Had I known we were coming here, I would have bought a bouquet of flowers."

"No need for that. They have plenty of their own." Bob pointed to a large bed full of blooming red and yellow tulips on the expansive and lush front lawn.

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**Author's Note**: For those wondering, there is no actual house on the exact site described in this chapter but if there were it would make a wonderful location for Martin and Louisa's home.

This story continues …


	112. Chapter 112

Resolutions

Part Twelve: Evolutions

**Author's Note: **Apologies. This chapter was intended to be posted last Saturday. However a winter storm caused a power outage which in turn caused significant damage to my computer. Repairs were finally completed the other day. Thank you to those readers who were kind enough to review Chapter 111. A longer chapter as compensation …

**Chapter One Hundred And Twelve**

The next two hours passed quickly and pleasantly for all concerned. Part enjoyable social call, part potential business transaction, it was a success all round. Both the Thompsons accompanied Louisa and Bob on a walk around the grounds and the main level but wisely declined the tour of the upstairs and basement, apologizing and pleading difficulty with the stairs. Illness and time had taken their toll; consequently Louisa had been unprepared for how frail they looked.

Not having been inside the house for a number of years, she experienced a surge of nostalgia. She remembered the days when she had sat at the Thompsons' kitchen table drinking milky Darjeeling tea and munching dark chocolate digestive biscuits or homemade blueberry scones. Mrs. Thompson, herself a former teacher, had been full of sympathy and suggestions for the young teacher.

The house looked pretty much the same now as it had then although nearly every room could use some patching and a good coat of colourful paint. It was easy to comprehend that the recent illness of both inhabitants had taken its toll on the formerly meticulously maintained house. Dents and scratches on the wood floors and walls, bare spots in the carpets; indications that a wheelchair and walker had clunked their way through the rooms. Louisa tried not to let the Thompsons see that she had noticed and understood.

However so intent were they on watching her reactions, that it had not escaped them. In their embarrassment at no longer being able to keep up their beloved house to its prior level of fastidiousness, they told Louisa that they were willing to take a reduction in their asking price as compensation for the general rundown state of their property.

Bob looked pleased at the opportunity. Although the asking price had not yet been settled, he was sure that it would be high given the large size of the house and the magnificent location of the land juxtaposed between the sea and the coastal pathway. It would make a perfect location for a pricey B & B or a stylish summer home for a London family wanting magnificent sea views.

Louisa glared at him and stated emphatically that she would have none of it. Besides, she cheerfully told the Thompsons, she and Martin would most likely be repainting, wallpapering and carpeting over the entire house anyway in colours and fabrics reflective of their own style and tastes. Inwardly she felt a deep sympathy for this lovely couple who had nothing to be ashamed of. Old age and illness most certainly did not require any sort of apology.

She firmly reiterated that she would not discuss price with them and that they should first consult with their own estate agent before making any decisions. Bob was disappointed; Louisa was letting sentiment and emotion get in the way of a good deal.

But Louisa refused to restrain her feelings. She was thrilled with what she was seeing. She loved this house and not just because of the wonderful people who owned it or the happy memories she had of being a visitor here. The house had "good bones" as Danny Steele used to say. Those long, detailed lectures on architecture he used to give her over dinner had not been in vain. She had done more than listen politely to his pontificating.

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The main floor layout was excellent. There was a substantial living room with a big bay window facing on to the sea. Off to one side was a small study and a tiny bathroom. On the other was a large den, a small dining area and a generously sized kitchen. The latter would probably need a complete do-over. All of the appliances were old, the linoleum floor was somewhat cracked and split, the counters bore chips and the wear of long use, the cabinet space was inadequate for modern day living. Minor details though in the context of the entire scheme. The house, some renovations aside, was quite perfect on the whole and bore the hallmarks of being previously loved and maintained.

Upstairs contained everything she could want. The master bedroom was of an ample and spacious size. Fortunately it had an ensuite bathroom which unfortunately would require a complete overhaul. This was more than compensated for by the large bay windows facing out onto the harbour entrance with its picture postcard spectacular views that the tourists never tired of photographing.

There were three other bedrooms and a small bathroom halfway down the hall which also needed a full renovation. One bedroom, directly opposite the master bedroom was significantly larger than the other two. Louisa thought it would be ideal for a child. Fingers crossed.

The Thompsons, both leaning heavily on their canes, slowly traversed the grounds with her and Bob, chatting pleasantly to her and reminiscing. Whenever Louisa had gone for a walk on the coastal path, she would pause for a moment to admire the pretty, dark stone, box-shaped house situated beautifully between the end of the road and the cliffs bordering it on two sides.

A sturdy chain link fence hemmed in the cliff, thus preventing anyone from getting precariously close to danger. A good thing, particularly if one were contemplating having a child play there. The backyard was of good size, affording enough room for a deck and garden. The only house nearby was situated further down the hill, fortunately not quite close enough to be within shouting distance.

The front lawn was larger than the back and formed a centrepiece bordered by a semi-circular asphalt driveway. The vestiges remained of what had once been a large garden, now mostly overgrown and beginning to go wild but for the large patches of tulips and annuals planted by the Thompsons' daughter. Mrs. Thompson proudly told Louisa that she had done all of the planting and weeding herself up until four years ago.

Given the close proximity to the coastal pathway, Martin would probably protest any breaches of their privacy by the various ramblers, birdwatchers, tourists and locals. Louisa was already preparing her defence to this; only the bravest outdoor enthusiast would walk the pathway before early May and after October. During the busy months Martin would be off on weekdays in Plymouth, providing he got the job, and would only have to contend with the pedestrian traffic on weekends. Otherwise he would be left in relative solitude. Considering that the road ended here, there would be a surfeit of other traffic. The only other thoroughfares consisted of the boundless sky for the screaming birds and the turbulent sea for the silent fishes.

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Bob had been helpfully snapping numerous pictures throughout the tour for Louisa to email later to Martin. His face was a composite portrait of relief and pleasure stemming from the conviction that he had quite possibly found a winning property that might finally satisfy the needs and wants of this challenging and discerning couple. However he was getting ahead of himself and forbade any further self-congratulation.

There were many details left to work out: the price had to be set; Martin would have to come down to view the property; a house inspector must be brought in; inevitably deft negotiations required on the stickier points. He could not envision Martin wanting to pay extra for the backyard hot tub Mr. Thompson used to soothe his frequently painful back.

Bob had left Louisa alone on the backyard deck, allowing her time to contemplate what she had viewed this afternoon. He had been carefully studying her face for the signs and he was positive they were there. He had enough experience to recognize them, having done so before with countless clients: that first moment when a prospective buyer falls in love with a property.

It usually started at the moment when his car rolled into the driveway and the client received their first, full view of the house and land. If the property had been maintained there was usually "curb appeal" as the folks in his business called it. But even if the front yard and the house were not well maintained, some clients could nevertheless imagine the possibilities and potential character of what this particular home either had been or could be with sufficient effort, money, time and love.

For certain buyers, particularly if they had a previous history or memory of the house or the neighbourhood or just plain knew what they wanted, it could be love at first sight. Having been in the real estate business for nearly fifteen years, Bob could sense when it was happening and it had definitely happened to Louisa.

He wondered what that tosser Doc Martin would make of the property. Ironic, considering this house was situated less than two minutes up the path from the Doc's own house and surgery. Two places from which Martin had been only pleased to triumphantly bolt six months ago. Actually Martin hadn't seemed too much of a tosser when Bob had chauffeured around both he and Louisa for house tours.

Louisa, of course, had been a delight from the start and he had gotten on well with her from their initial meeting in April. But Martin. Bob had felt considerable trepidation about meeting him. Martin's dubious reputation having preceded him, Bob had expected him to be a difficult and infuriating client: ill tempered, rude, and impatient. Kind of like the way he was with his patients. Bob had never met him but other agents in his office in Wadebridge had previously endured and suffered the pleasure. They speculated that Bob would never get a sale out of it and would be fired within a week of meeting the good doctor.

That had not transpired. Yes, the Doc had been brusque, businesslike and demanding. However he had also appreciated all of the research Bob had sent him along with comprehensive listings of properties in the Port Wenn environs. Clearly Martin had studied it all and had asked intelligent and perceptive questions when viewing each house. On the few times when Martin had lost his temper, Louisa had been adept through glances, gestures or words at quickly calming him down. Given everything that Bob had heard about the belligerent and overbearing Dr. Ellingham, it was evident that the celebrated physician had mellowed somewhat since leaving Cornwall.

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Alone and reclining pensively in a blue and white striped cushioned lounge chair situated on top of the Thompsons' deck, Louisa looked out to the sea and knew she was home. She sat quite still, allowing the gentle breezes off the harbour to waft over her and the sunshine with that peculiar Cornwall hue of light, to bake her skin. She pictured herself growing old here; imagined her and Martin playing with their child on this very back lawn; envisioned the house being Martin's refuge from the world. That sense of being home, it was instinctive; like the fishes and mammals who returned yearly to spawn at the place of their birth.

This location was a fair compromise between her and Martin: on the far side of the village but within walking distance of the school and the shops. But was it really the best compromise, at least as far as Martin was concerned? Although it was at the edge of the village, it was at the wrong edge for him. He had meant closer to Wadebridge or Trelights; somewhere he could remain invisible.

And the renovations? They were nothing to scoff at nor dismiss lightly if Martin concurred of their necessity. Three bathrooms and the kitchen. Practically every room would need papering, painting or plastering. Not to mention if the home inspection revealed anything dodgy with the electricals or the plumbing, a definite possibility in an old house. Some of this could wait, of course but Martin wanted a move-in ready home. It was his wallet that would be emptied, not hers. That still made her uncomfortable and guilt ridden, in spite of his reassurances.

She had asked the Thompsons to grant her a little extra time so that Martin could travel down to conduct his own inspection before their agent began public showings. She knew Martin would not be happy about another rapid visit, having already been here last weekend. He would take some convincing and coaxing.

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This story continues the Saturday after Easter ….


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